


The Sounds of Home

by Golden_Asp



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura and Coran own Voltron Arabians, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Homelessness, Horses are the best therapists, I wanted Keith and Shiro on horses, Keith works with horses, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, Shiro is 34 Keith is 26, Slow Burn, They fall in love with the help of horses, equine assisted therapy, flash backs, horse photos, possibly non linear narrative, slightly aged up characters, this is honestly pretty self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-01-07 01:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Asp/pseuds/Golden_Asp
Summary: Shiro had found the magazine article about a barn that had therapy horses for veterans with PTSD.  He wasn't sure about going.  He was bad around people and had flashbacks at the worst possible times, but he was close to giving up.Keith worked and lived at Voltron Arabians, and was a certified equine therapist.  He didn't know what it was about the quiet man who showed up at the barn with nothing but the jacket on his back and a much folded magazine article, but he wanted to do what he could for him.How horses can heal and bring people together.Or, how Shiro and Keith fell in love, and Shiro found himself again.**now with horse photos!**





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> You ever have a story that won't leave you alone until you start banging it out on the keyboard? Yeah, this one is one of those. I should be working on my FFXV stuff, but this one literally wouldn't leave me alone.  
> This is my first Voltron fic, and not what I expected to do for the fandom right off the bat. This is pretty self indulgent, honestly. I own horses, and I rarely get to write anything with them.  
> Keith may be a little OOC right now, but both their pasts will come to life as the story develops.
> 
> Also, I am not an equine therapist. I've had horses help me through a time when I had severe depression and anxiety, so I am writing from that. I have volunteered with adaptive riding before, but it's been many years. It is not my intention to misrepresent anything, and if I do, I apologize profusely.
> 
> not beta-ed, all mistakes mine.

Shiro stood at the end of the driveway, staring at the sign. _Voltron Arabians_. He pulled the crumpled magazine article from his pocket and glanced at it. This was the place.

His heart pounded, and he clenched his prosthetic hand.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

He looked at the magazine article. His shoulders slumped. He couldn’t do this.

Somewhere on the road behind him, a car backfired.

Shiro found himself on the ground, hands over his head, adrenaline surging through his body. Flashes of memories he tried to bury burned across his eyes.

The explosion of his F/A-18 around him. The sound of his arm cracking when his ejection seat hit the desert floor. The saw working through his arm as his captors laughed.

He didn’t know where he was. He shook. 

Some days he didn’t know who he was.

He thought he heard footsteps, and he curled tighter around himself. They were coming back for him. They never left him alone.

They never would.

:::

Keith Kogane latched the gate and leaned over the panel, watching the horses gallop around. He ran his hand through his hair.

The yearlings in the pasture snorted and chased each other. Keith smiled. He loved watching the horses.

He watched one of the older mares approach the fence lining the driveway. Her ears were up, and she was moving cautiously. Keith frowned, stepping up on the panel to try to get a better look.

Was that a dead animal?

“Damn it,” Keith muttered, vaulting over the gate. He jogged across the pasture.

“Hey there, Chatty,” he said to the mare as he walked towards her. He really didn’t want to get kicked by sneaking up on her. The grey mare flicked her ear back at him, but was still inching closer to the fence.

Keith moved closer and cursed again.

It was a man. 

Keith ducked through the panel and knelt next to him. 

The man was shaking, curled in on himself. Keith’s eyes took in the prosthetic hand, the shabby jacket, the worn combat boots that looked like they had actually seen combat.

He saw the crumbled magazine article in the man’s hand. It had been on the Voltron Arabians therapy program. 

A veteran, then. 

Keith started talking quietly, approaching the man like he would a skittish colt. He didn’t touch him. He was a certified therapist, and he knew if he touched him, it could end badly for both of them.

Slowly, the man unfurled. Keith glanced up. The entire pasture of horses were gathered at the fence, watching. Keith rolled his eyes at the herd.

“You’re a bunch of nosy old women,” he said.

The man lifted his head, blinking storm grey eyes. He looked confused.

“Hey, buddy,” Keith said quietly. He took in the shock of white hair falling into those eyes. He had to resist the urge to brush it back. There was a scar across his nose and cheeks, pale against already pale skin.

“Who…who are you?” the man asked.

“Keith. I’m a trainer here at Voltron. You have a name?”

The man swallowed, pushing himself up to sitting position. He ran his flesh and blood hand over his face. Keith looked at the strong jawline, covered with stubble, the dark circles under his eyes, sunken in cheeks.

He looked haunted.

“Sh…Shiro,” the man said.

“Hello, Shiro. Welcome to Voltron Arabians.”

Shiro looked away. He couldn’t stand the compassion in the man’s…Keith’s…violet eyes.

“Why don’t I take you to the horses?” Keith asked. He had worked with people with PTSD before. The horses could work more magic than any person could.

Keith stood up, offering his hand to Shiro.

Shiro stared at it like it was a snake, then slowly grasped it with his left hand. Keith pulled him to his feet, glancing briefly at the way Shiro’s hand engulfed his. Shiro shoved the magazine article into his pocket.

Keith tilted his head. “C’mon.”

Keith started walking slowly, scratching the gathered horses on the forehead as he walked by. He heard soft footfalls as Shiro started following him.

Shiro followed the smaller man up the driveway. Keith. He said his name was Keith. Keith moved easily, gracefully, stopping to pet the horses and not putting any pressure on Shiro.

Shiro sighed. He hated that Keith’s first impression of him was him curled up in a ball in the driveway. 

He looked up as they rounded the corner. A huge barn stood there. Shiro blinked. It had to be the size of a hangar at least. There were multiple nice cars parked out front, and three gooseneck horse trailers lined up.

Keith glanced at him. “That’s the show barn. It’s the biggest barn on the property. That’s where all the show and sale horses live.”

Shiro stuffed his hands in his pocket. He didn’t want any of the people going around the barn to see his arm.

Keith didn’t comment. 

“We have two more barns on the property. The foaling barn, which is empty right now. And this one, where the therapy horses live.”

Keith gestured to the smaller barn in front of them. Shiro looked it over. It was slightly shabbier than the show barn, and only about a quarter of the size. The smell of hay and shavings and manure drifted over him.

Keith led him into the barn. It was wide and airy with plenty of natural light. Shiro looked around. Horses hung their heads over the stall doors, whickering at Keith. Keith talked to the horses quietly, giving Shiro a moment.

He watched the man out of the corner of his eye. Shiro didn’t move much, he just stood in the breezeway looking at the horses. He was quiet, and he seemed drawn in on himself.

“Voltron makes most of its money from show and sales,” Keith said, leaning against the barn wall. “Coran started the therapy after Allura’s parents were killed to help her.”

“Coran?” Shiro asked after a moment.

“Coran is Allura’s uncle,” Keith said. “They own Voltron Arabians.”

Shiro nodded, still not looking at Keith.

“You ever been around horses before?” Keith asked softly. Shiro shook his head, staring at the ground.

“That’s okay. I got the perfect horse for you.”

Keith grabbed a halter and went into one of the stalls. Shiro stood back as Keith led the horse from his stall.

The horse was tall, with brown fur and slightly darker mane and tail. He had a white star in the center of his forehead and snip on his nose. Keith put the horse in the cross ties and patted the horse on the rump.

“This is Willie.”

Shiro looked at the horse. The gelding pricked his ears and looked at Shiro, bobbing his head. Shiro swallowed, suddenly nervous.

Keith smiled at him. “He won’t bite. Approach his shoulder.”

Shiro took a slow step forward. Willie relaxed in the cross ties, standing hipshot. His head dropped and his lip hung low. His ears flopped sideways.

Keith stood by Willie’s back end, arm over his haunches. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Shiro inched closer to the Thoroughbred gelding. Willie sighed, head drooping even lower.

Tentatively, Shiro reached his left hand out. He pressed it against Willie’s shoulder.

It was warm. His fingers curled against Willie’s fur. The horse sighed, and Shiro sighed at the same time.

Keith watched as the tight set of Shiro’s shoulders slowly relaxed. He absentmindedly stroked Willie’s hip.

Shiro moved closer to the horse, breathing in the scent of the horse. Slowly, Shiro’s forehead came to rest on Willie’s shoulder. He twined his fingers into Willie’s mane.

Willie turned his head, touching Shiro’s shoulder with his nose. Shiro started slightly. It had been so long since anybody (anything) had touched him that even the gentle touch of a horse’s nose nearly brought him to tears.

Keith moved slowly, grabbing a grooming kit and set it on the bench behind Shiro.

“When you feel like it, you can brush him,” Keith said quietly.

Shiro froze, then took a deep breath. “How?” he said, voice rough.

Keith picked up a rubber curry and sets it against Willie’s coat. He slowly started rubbing it in circles. Shiro watched, hand still curled on Willie’s shoulder.

“Gentle circles. It breaks up any mud and gets rid of dead hair,” Keith said quietly. He held the brush out to Shiro.

Shiro took it from him, fingers brushing Keith’s palm. Keith went still, not wanting to make any sudden movements.

Shiro slowly started brushing Willie. He stared at the horse as Willie lifted his head, his upper lip twitching.

“What is he doing?” Shiro asked, staring at the horse.

Keith laughed. “It means he likes it.”

Shiro stared at Willie, hand still moving in slow circles on his fur.

How long had it been since he had done something that someone liked? He felt his eyes burn with tears and he rested his head back against Willie’s shoulder.

The horse didn’t judge him. The horse didn’t stare at him like he was something filthy, something that was less than the shit on the bottom of people’s shoes.

He didn’t want to look at Keith, but the smaller man’s presence didn’t both him. Keith was quiet, like a still lake. 

Keith watched him. He wanted to reach out and rest his hand on Shiro’s shoulder, which was weird. Keith wasn’t the touchy feely kind of guy. He preferred the horses to the people.

He wondered what had happened to Shiro, where he lived, what he did. 

Where exactly had he found that magazine article about the therapy program?

Keith didn’t ask. He didn’t want to scare Shiro away. He was drawn to the taller man, with his scar and his white forelock and his prosthetic arm.

He picked up the soft body brush and started working on Willie’s other side, offering quiet companionship to Shiro.

Shiro wasn’t sure how much time passed as they brushed the horse. Keith never asked any questions, never pressured him to talk. Shiro appreciated it. He found that Keith didn’t bother him like most people did.

Maybe…maybe he could come back.

Dusk had fallen while they silently brushed Willie within an inch of his life. The old gelding clearly loved the attention, head butting them whenever they stopped.

Keith handed him a couple of horse cookies, showing Shiro how to feed them to Willie without getting a finger in the horse’s mouth. 

“You have a car?” Keith asked.

“I rode the bus today,” Shiro said quietly. 

“I’ll walk you to the bus stop.”

Shiro opened his mouth to refuse, then closed it as Keith walked ahead of him. He followed the other man, feeling a little lost and confused.

They reached the bus stop at the end of Voltron Arabian’s driveway. Shiro tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. He needed a damn haircut.

“Can…can I come back?” Shiro asked, staring at his boots.

Keith smiled, and put his hand gently on Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro stared at the hand on his shoulder. Keith squeezed gently, and Shiro’s eyes locked on Keith’s.

“As often as you want,” Keith said. “I’m sure Willie would appreciate it.”

Shiro smiled weakly at him.

The bus pulled up, and Shiro turned towards it. He lifted his left hand in a wave, and Keith waved back.

Keith watched as Shiro sat down on the nearly empty bus. He stood there until the bus turned out of sight. He turned and walked back up the driveway.

“New client?” a voice asked.

“Hey, Coran,” Keith said, falling into step with the other man. “A veteran, I think. He didn’t talk much.”

“He was here for a few hours,” Coran said, fingering his mustache.

Keith shrugged. “I think he’s going to come back. He had the article that _Horse Monthly_ did a couple of months ago in his pocket.”

“I watched from a distance,” Coran said as they walked into the show barn to start feeding. “It seems like he’s seen some terrible things.”

Keith nodded. “He’s haunted. He had a flashback or something in the driveway. That’s where I found him.”

“Well, I hope the horses can work their magic on him like they did you,” Coran said with a smile.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, old man. Let’s get these horses fed.”

Coran laughed, and the two men started to mix the nightly grain rations.

Keith went to feed the therapy barn as Coran finished up in the show barn. He stopped, leaning over the stall door and watching Willie eat his grain.

“What do you think, old horse?” Keith asked quietly. “Think we can help him?”

Willie lifted his head, grain dribbling out of his mouth. He blew spit across Keith’s face. Keith laughed, wiping his eyes.

“Yeah, I think so too.”

He finished feeding and did one last walk through of the barns. He headed for his apartment in the foaling barn, kicking his boots off and walking in.

He turned on the lights and sighed, falling onto the couch.

“Shiro,” he muttered, testing out the name.

He hoped the man did come back. He wanted to learn more about him. He wanted to chase that haunted look from his eyes.

He sighed again, staring at the ceiling. He knew from personal experience that it was going to take time, and someone who wouldn’t give up on him.

He would just have to wait and see if Shiro came back.

The next morning, Keith looked up to see Shiro walking down the driveway, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched.

Keith lifted his hand in a wave, and Shiro waved back.

Shiro followed him silently to the therapy barn. Keith got Willie out again and Shiro rested his head against the horse’s shoulder.

His mind was quiet here.

He picked up a brush and started brushing Willie.

“I’m going to muck out stalls. You need anything, just call for me,” Keith said.

“Thanks,” Shiro said softly.

Keith patted Willie on the back and moved to grab the wheelbarrow.

Shiro listened to the sounds of the barn around him; horses shuffling around their stalls, automatic waterers refilling, Keith’s voice talking softly to the horses.

It was calm. It was peaceful.

Shiro took a deep breath.

He liked it here.

Willie didn’t judge him, didn’t stare at him like he was something broken.

Maybe, one day, he could be a little less broken.

Willie nudged him, ears up, clearly looking for a cookie.

Shiro smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time he had really smiled.

He rested his head against Willie’s shoulder, breathing in the distinct smell of horse.

He could do this.

One day at a time.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro spends more time with Willie, Keith learns a few things about Shiro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, thanks for reading this self indulgent story. I've never gotten to write about horses before and it's fun. Sometimes it may get a little...technically horsey, I guess. I used to give riding lessons, and that may come through.
> 
> not beta-ed
> 
> Comments and Kudos are love!

In the two weeks Shiro had been coming to Voltron Arabians, Keith learned some things about the man.

He wasn’t sure they were verifiable facts, since Shiro rarely said anything beyond greeting him, but he was starting to build a picture of the man.

One, he didn’t think Shiro had a job. He came to the ranch at least four days a week, and generally stayed all day. He was usually there with the first bus in the morning and left with the last bus in the evening. Keith didn’t mind. He was intrigued by this man.

Two, he was pretty sure Shiro only owned three shirts. He saw them often, threadbare, solid color tees that maybe had once been much darker. One pair of pants, because the back pocket had a hole in it, and they were the only ones he ever saw him in. Those boots, which had thin soles and worn laces. And Keith was pretty sure that old coat was a Navy peacoat.

Three, that prosthetic arm was incredibly high tech. Keith had seen his fair share of prosthetic limbs in his time running the therapy program, but Shiro’s arm seemed to be cybernetic. 

Not that Keith was stupid enough to ask. Shiro tried to keep the arm hidden. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Shiro didn’t want to talk about. It seemed like he didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Four, and most important in Keith’s book, the horses loved him. Shiro would spend hours brushing Willie. Keith wasn’t sure if Shiro talked to the horse, but Willie definitely didn’t mind the attention. Keith had introduced Shiro to the other therapy horses, but Willie seemed to have claimed the silent veteran.

Keith glanced up, watching Shiro and Willie. Willie stood relaxed in the cross ties, hipshot and head low. Shiro leaned against him, forehead resting against Willie’s withers. His left hand was buried in Willie’s mane, right arm across his back.

Shiro seemed to be at peace.

Keith smiled slightly and went back to mucking Willie’s stall.

:::

Shiro walked up the driveway of Voltron Arabians, hands shoved in his pockets. It was a Saturday, and he’d never seen the place so crowded. He swallowed hard. He didn’t do well in crowds.

He gave the fancy cars a wide berth, skirting around the big show barn. He could hear people, mostly girls he thought, chatting loudly in the show barn.

Shiro sighed, running his fingers through his hair. His shoulders relaxed fractionally as he entered the therapy barn. It was quiet, and seemed to be empty.

That was okay. He didn’t want to be around anyone anyway.

He moved quietly down the breezeway until he reached Willie’s stall. He rested his elbows on the stall door.

Willie saw him and walked straight up to him. Shiro reached over the door and scratched his head. “Hey, Willie,” Shiro said quietly. Willie’s ears pivoted to him, and the horse rested his head over the stall door next to Shiro. Shiro rested his forehead against Willie’s warm cheek.

“Today’s not a good day, Willie,” Shiro muttered, closing his eyes. Willie sighed, nudging Shiro slightly.

Shiro reached up and buried his hand in Willie’s mane. “I wish I could take you out, but I never pulled you out…” He could probably figure out how to put the halter on, but he didn’t want to mess up.

Shiro’s throat felt tight, and he cursed silently. He shook, tears slipping from his eyes.

It was a bad day. He had known the moment he woke up that he was toeing the line of having a breakdown. Panic attack, flash back, whatever term the shrink of the week decided to call it.

Some days were worse than others. If he was honest, most days were worse than others.

Sometimes, he knew what triggered a flashback. That car backfiring the first day he’d come here, being surrounded by large crowds, fireworks.

Sometimes, it took him by surprise, overwhelming him with a sense of dread and terror and darkness.

Some days, like today apparently, he was constantly on edge until something just pushed him over.

Some days, like today, he felt a crushing loneliness that ate at his soul. His knees buckled and he slid down the front of Willie’s stall door. He tried to be around people to ease the loneliness, but it only seemed to make it worse.

Shiro rested his forehead against the door, trying to control his breathing. Willie hung his head over the door, wiggling his lip in Shiro’s hair.

Shiro went still, a surprised laugh escaping from his throat. It felt weird. Shiro lifted his hand and gently stroked Willie’s face.

The horses were easier to be around than people. Willie just accepted him, even after the week before when he’d had a bad flashback and had ended up huddled underneath the horse. Willie had stood stock still, standing over him until Shiro remembered that he wasn’t trapped, strapped down with no arm.

Shiro slowly turned around, sitting on the breezeway floor and resting his head against the door. Willie put his lips on Shiro’s forehead, still lipping at his hair. 

Shiro was so tired. Sleep was a rare thing for him. He was lucky if he got three or four hours a night. The other people at the shelter hated sleeping near him. They were always happy to tell him how much his screaming bothered them.

He’d had his stuff stolen more than once.

“I’m so tired, Willie. I’m just…I think I’ll just close my eyes for a moment…” Shiro’s eyes drifted shut. His breathing deepened, the sound of horses moving around their stalls the only sound.

He slumped sideways, curled up in front of Willie’s door. Willie’s ears pricked up at Shiro’s soft snore. Willie shifted slightly, lower lip hanging loose as he relaxed.

Shiro didn’t move as Willie started drooling on him.

He’d been covered in worse.

:::

Keith waved to the last of his students and stretched. Saturdays were always their busy days with group lessons. He moved off at an easy walk, waving to Allura with the advanced students.

He headed towards the therapy barn. His own horse, Gator, lived there. He had tried to show Gator when he was younger, but the grey mare was having none of it. She had proven her great dislike of the show ring by nearly running over the judge in one memorable ride, and in a halter class she’d once crossed her legs instead of stretching out.

She was his trail horse now, although he did ride her sometimes when he gave lessons.

He stepped into the barn and stopped. Every horse had their head hanging over the doors, which would’ve been normal if it had been dinner time, and not just after three in the afternoon.

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” Keith asked, pausing to scratch Dreamer on the head.

The horses were all focused on Willie’s stall. Keith saw a shape at the base of Willie’s door and hustled over, dropping to his knees.

“Shiro?” he asked quietly. Shiro seemed to be asleep. Keith hadn’t even realized he was here.

He didn’t want to startle Shiro awake. He knew it could be bad. 

“Shiro?” he asked again. He sat down next to Shiro. Willie looked down at him, bobbing his head up and down.

“Yeah, old horse?” Keith asked, reaching up and patting Willie’s nose. “How long has he been here?”

Shiro groaned, sitting up. He bumped heads with Willie and cursed.

“Yeah, horses have hard heads,” Keith said softly. Shiro gasped, twisting to face him. 

“Hey,” Keith said. “I didn’t know you were here today.”

Shiro unconsciously rubbed his right bicep. “Was I not supposed to be?” he asked quietly.

Keith smiled. “I told you that you could come here whenever. Saturdays are our big lesson days, or I would’ve been out here sooner.”

Shiro nodded, looking at the ground. His neck hurt from sleeping funny, but he didn’t feel like he was teetering quite so close to the edge of the abyss.

“How come you didn’t get Willie out?” Keith asked.

“I don’t know how to…halter him,” Shiro said. Keith nodded. He had gotten Willie out for him every other time. 

“How about I show you?” Keith asked, standing up and holding his hand out. “Then you can get him out on your own.”

Shiro stared at Keith’s hand for a moment, then reached his left hand out and let Keith pull him to his feet. Keith grabbed a halter and lead rope.

“Okay, so make sure the stall door is closed behind you. Horses have open gate syndrome,” Keith said, latching the door behind Shiro as they walked in.

“Open gate syndrome?” Shiro asked.

“If there’s an open gate, they’re going through it. Sometimes at a high rate of speed,” Keith said. “So, make sure the horse knows where you are. If they have their back to the door, talk to them, make sure they look at you before entering. You sneak up on a horse, even a good old horse like Willie here, and they might kick you. Throw the lead rope over his neck.” 

Keith tossed the cotton lead over Willie’s neck. “And he’s caught, or at least he thinks he’s caught so he won’t walk away. His nose goes through here, and you buckle this part behind his ears.” Keith demonstrated, aware of Shiro’s eyes on him. “Last but not least, when you lead any horse, don’t loop the lead rope around your fingers. It could be real bad if they pull back.”

Shiro nodded, clenching his right fist. Keith took the halter off and handed it to Shiro.

“Your turn,” Keith said. Shiro blinked at him owlishly, staring down at the nylon halter in his hands.

He took a deep breath and approached Willie’s shoulder. Willie turned his head and touched Shiro’s shoulder with his nose.

“Hey, Willie,” Shiro said softly, resting his right hand on Willie’s shoulder. Keith stood back and watched. Shiro tossed the lead over Willie’s neck. He fumbled with the halter at first, but finally Willie dipped his nose into it. He had a harder time with the buckle, but he kept at it until he had it buckled. He pulled the lead rope off and gathered it in his hands, staring at the shavings on the stall floor.

“Nice job,” Keith said softly, smiling at Shiro. He swore Shiro actually blushed slightly.

“C’mon, let’s get the old horse in the cross ties so you can brush him. I’m sure he’s waiting for it.” Keith opened the stall door, holding it open as Shiro slowly led Willie from the stall. Willie walked right next to him, waiting for him.

Keith led them to the cross ties and Shiro managed to get his halter clipped in. He sighed and rested his head against Willie’s shoulder. 

“Let me show you where Willie’s grooming kit is,” Keith said after a moment. Shiro shuffled after him. Keith led him to a small tack room. “Here’s Willie’s stuff. Each horse has their own brushes and saddle pads.”

Shiro stared at the explosion of red, white, and blue. “Is Willie patriotic?”

Keith laughed. “Willie’s a retired police horse. I thought the flag themed stuff was appropriate.”

“He was a police horse?” Shiro asked. Keith glanced at him. It was the most interest he had seen Shiro show in anything, and possibly the longest sentence he’d heard him utter in two weeks.

“Yeah. Well, he started out as a rather mediocre race horse. He’s actually the great grandson of Seabiscuit.”

Shiro’s eyes widened. Even he knew that name, and he had only seen the (rather boring, in his opinion) movie from the early 2000s.

Keith laughed. “So after he was done with racing he was a police horse in Los Angeles. Believe it or not, he was blessed by the pope while he was there.”

“How did that happen?” Shiro asked, picking up the grooming box.

“Pope was in the US, stopped in LA and blessed all the police animals.”

Shiro looked surprised. Keith led him back to Willie. “We got him because his owner got married and his wife didn’t want the horse. She was going to send Willie to the slaughter house, so we stepped in. He’s been here for ten years.”

Shiro set the brush box down on the bench in the breezeway. “They were going to send him to slaughter?”

“Yeah,” Keith said, leaning against the wall as Shiro pulled out the rubber curry.

“I’m glad you guys stepped in,” Shiro said softly, not looking at Keith as he started brushing Willie.

“So are we,” Keith said. He pushed off the wall and patted Willie on the butt. “I’m going to clean his stall while you have him out. He has a tendency to play with the wheelbarrow if I do it while he’s in there.”

Shiro nodded, concentrating on the horse. Keith smiled slightly, slipping away to grab the wheelbarrow and muck rake. 

He started tossing the wet shavings into the wheelbarrow. He didn’t know what it was about Shiro, but the man intrigued him. He was by no means the only man who took part in the therapy program, but he was the only one that had shown up on his own, not recommended by a therapist.

He liked Shiro, and wanted to protect him. Keith generally didn’t feel like that about many people. He liked his students, but he was always glad to give them back to their parents at the end of the hour. Coran and Allura were family, and he would do anything for them.

Shiro had worked his way quickly into the circle of people that Keith would fight for, and he barely knew anything about the man.

He wanted to know more about him. He wanted to know what happened to his arm, and where that cybernetic prosthetic had come from. He wanted to know what had caused his hair to go prematurely white, because he was pretty certain Shiro wasn’t much older than him. He wanted to chase that haunted look from his eyes.

Even in the two scant weeks Shiro had been coming, Keith thought that the other man seemed to relax faster around the horses. Hell, he’d even gotten a couple of sentences out of him today.

His phone buzzed and he paused, leaning on the rake as he pulled it out of his pocket.

**Don’t forget to have Shiro sign the hold harmless.** From Coran. Keith nodded, punching out a quick reply. Coran must’ve figured out that Shiro was here.

He finished picking the poop out of the shavings and the urine soaked spots. He dragged the wheelbarrow out and pulled a new bag of shavings in. He spread the new shavings around and then pushed the wheelbarrow out to the manure pile. 

He glanced at Shiro, who just seemed to be hugging Willie, body brush held loosely in his hand.

He watched for a moment.

Maybe in some strange way Shiro reminded him of himself, a broken kid from a broken home who ran away to visit the horses so often Coran finally just adopted him. He had been silent and sullen, untrusting. 

The horses had gotten him out of that dark place, and he wanted to help Shiro out of that place as well.

“Hey, Shiro?” he said, walking slowly. 

Shiro opened his eyes, blinking slowly at Keith. 

“We need to fill out some paperwork. Totally normal stuff for our records. Is that okay?”

Shiro nodded, pushing away from Willie. He wasn’t a fan of paperwork. It reminded him too much of being in the hospital. But he also understood the necessity of it in a place like this. He was a little surprised it had taken them so long to have him fill something out.

“Willie’ll be fine in the cross ties. This won’t take long.” 

Shiro followed Keith back to the small tack room. Keith opened a locker and pulled out a clipboard and a couple of pieces of paper.

“This is a hold harmless agreement. Basically it says if a horse hurts you or kills you while you’re on the premises, you agree not to hold Voltron Arabians responsible.”

Shiro nodded, taking the pen and clipboard. He paused, swallowing. “I’m slow at writing with this hand still,” he mumbled, not looking at Keith.

“Totally fine,” Keith said. “Take as much time as you need.”

Shiro sat on the bench in the corner of the tack room, clip board balanced on his lap. He slowly started to write, carefully writing out each letter.

Keith watched him discreetly as Shiro’s tongue poked out the corner of his mouth.

It took Shiro about ten minutes to fill it out, and Keith could see that some parts of it had bothered him. Shiro handed the clipboard back.

Keith scanned it quickly.

_Takashi Shirogane._ Keith had a full name now. He tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear as he read the rest of the form.

“No phone number?” Keith asked.

“No phone,” Shiro said softly, hands shoved in his pockets. Keith was starting to recognize that Shiro did that when he wanted to hide.

“You didn’t put anyone down for an emergency contact.”

Shiro dropped his eyes, flushing slightly. “I…I don’t have anyone to contact.”

Keith stared at him. He knew that feeling too. How many forms had he filled out before Coran without an emergency contact?

Keith pulled the pen out and wrote his own name and phone number in the blank spaces.

“There. Now you do.”

Shiro stared at him. He didn’t understand why Keith would want to be his emergency contact. He didn’t understand why Keith just didn’t chuck him out with the horse shit, if he was perfectly honest with himself.

When was the last time someone had done something like that for him?

He couldn’t remember.

Shiro swallowed, hoping the burning in his eyes wasn’t noticeable. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

Keith scribbled his name and number on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “If you need to fill out any forms, feel free to use me as your emergency contact. I’ll be a reference for you, too, if you need it.”

Shiro took the piece of paper with a slow reverence, like it was something precious. He pulled a tattered leather wallet out of his coat pocket and slipped it in behind his expired ID. Keith noticed that there wasn’t anything else in the wallet.

From the breezeway, Willie let out an indigent whinny. Keith laughed. “I think he’s trying to get you to come back and brush him.”

Shiro managed a weak smile and slipped by Keith, walking back towards the horse.

Keith looked back down at the hold harmless agreement in his hand. Shiro hadn’t put an address either, but he hadn’t been expecting an address. He set the clipboard aside. He’d take the form to the main office in the show barn later to file it.

He had never just handed out his phone number or randomly offered to be an emergency contact and reference for someone he barely knew before.

He thought he heard Shiro talking quietly to Willie and he smiled. Gator stuck her head over her stall door and yelled at him.

“Alright, you pushy thing, I’m coming,” he said, walking over to her. She shoved her face in his chest and he idly scratched her poll. She nipped at the drawstrings of his hoodie and he smacked her. “Don’t. You know better.” 

Gator sighed, relaxing against him.

He kept watching Shiro and Willie. He would start working more with them. Mostly he had just been standing back and making sure Shiro didn’t do anything to put himself in danger and letting Willie just be a horse with him.

He’d teach Shiro how to lead him. He bet that Shiro would like taking Willie for walks in the pasture.

Gator head butted him, clearly tired of being ignored.

“I’ll ride you later,” he said.

Shiro rested his cheek against Willie’s neck, inhaling the scent of horse and breathing deeply.

Keith watched, and figured Shiro was relearning how to just simply _be_.

And he knew there was no better teacher for that than a horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story about Willie is true. He really was the great grandson of Seabiscuit and started out life as a mediocre race horse in CA. He really was a police horse in LA, and in 1984 when Pope John Paul II came to America he blessed all the police animals. Unfortunately, the part about his former owner nearly sending him to slaughter is also true. Willie, full name Sweet Willie Brown, lived to be 42 years old. He died the day Pope Benedict stepped down.
> 
> Gator is also a real horse, and the story about her nearly running down a judge is true. She is not a show horse. I learned that the hard way.
> 
> If I can figure out how to embed pictures, I can show images of all these horses if people are interested. I can't draw, but I have a hell of a lot of horse photos that I've taken over the years.
> 
> Thanks for reading and please tell me what you think!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro has a panic attack, Keith is best boy at life, Shiro feels something like hope. 
> 
> And horse pics!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this has truly been overwhelming. Thank you so much for every comment and kudos. It means the world to me. I've realized that this story is kind of a love note to the horses I've known in my life, and sharing that means a lot.
> 
> Thanks to szzzt for telling me how to do photos! Now this story has horsey pics!
> 
> not beta-ed.

The first bite of fall was in the air, and Keith loved it. He loved that it was cold enough in the morning to require a light jacket as he fed. He loved how the colder air had the horses snorting and kicking up their heels in turnout.

Summer was finally relinquishing its grip on the high desert. He hoped they actually had a fall. Some years, they went from 95 degrees one day to less than 50 the next. Having an actual fall season would be a welcome change.

Keith shifted with Gator as she moved under him. He watched his students trot around the large outdoor arena. It would probably be one of their last outdoor lessons of the year. Not that he minded riding in the cold, but the kids were sometimes a little too impatient to want to properly cool down a sweaty horse in the cold.

And he had to admit that riding in the heated indoor arena was pretty damn nice when snow covered the ground.

“Half circle reverse,” Keith called, turning Gator to keep an eye on one girl. Gabby McClain’s family had moved to the area earlier in the year. She was relatively new to riding, and talked about her large family pretty often. From what he gathered, her oldest brother was a cargo pilot for the Navy.

“Check your diagonal, Gabby,” Keith said. He watched as she glanced down at Giggles’ shoulder and sat twice to switch her diagonals. “Good.”

Keith glanced towards the therapy barn. Shiro was in there, brushing Willie again. Shiro had been coming a little over a month, and Keith still barely knew anything about the man.

“Circles in the corners,” Keith said, pulling his attention back to the lesson. The girls’ parents were paying clients, and Allura would kick his ass if she thought he was avoiding his responsibilities as instructor.

The four horses and riders trotted big circles in the corners. Keith watched each one, noting how far the girls had come. Gator lifted her head, ears up, as the mares in the adjacent pasture took off running across the field. 

_Keith’s View on Gator_

“And walk. Feet out of the stirrups and draw circles in the air with your toes,” Keith said, resting one hand on Gator’s butt. The grey mare sighed, swinging her head around to bite at his boot. He playfully kicked at her face and she grabbed his toes. Keith laughed, yanking his foot back. “Brat,” he said, leaning forward and rubbing her ears.

He looked up. “Alright, girls. We’re done. Cool down your horses. Nice job today.”

He checked his watch. “Walk them for at least fifteen minutes.”

The girls acknowledged him, walking four abreast so they could chat. He swung off Gator and ran his stirrups up. She sighed and head butted him.

“Stop, Gatorbait,” Keith muttered, shoving her head away. “That’s rude.” He pulled the reins over her head. Allura walked out into the arena, leading her grey stallion Barberry. She stopped a few feet away from him.

“Hey, Allura,” Keith said, leaning against Gator and watching her drop her stirrups on her jumping saddle. She smiled at him.

“How’d they do?” Allura asked. Berry arched his neck, whuffing at Gator. Gator inched forward. Keith shoved her back and Allura moved the stallion back a step with a sharp word.

“Good. Gabby’s catching on quickly. Rachael and Kate are about ready to move up, and Izzie is as inconsistent as ever,” he said. 

“I’ll watch them while they cool down. I believe Shiro is waiting for you. He seems tense.”

“He’s always tense,” Keith murmured, stuffing his gloves in his back pocket. 

“Tenser than usual. He nearly hit the ground when Coran dropped a pitchfork.”

Keith frowned, looking towards the therapy barn.

“Go,” Allura said, checking her girth.

“Thanks,” Keith said, leading Gator out of the arena. He walked by the show barn to the therapy barn.

Willie stood patiently in the crossties. Keith frowned. Shiro was nowhere to be seen.

Willie lifted his ears as Keith led Gator in. “Shiro?” Keith called softly. He heard a thump from Willie’s stall. He quickly moved Gator to the second set of crossties and gently pulled the bridle off her and replaced it with her halter. He hung the bridle up and moved to Willie’s stall.

He looked over the stall door and his heart plummeted. Shiro was curled in the corner of the stall, shaking. He cried out when Keith opened the door.

“No more, please!” Shiro sobbed. Keith stopped, lowering himself to a non-threatening position. 

“Shiro, it’s me. It’s Keith. You’re at Voltron, in the barn.” He kept talking quietly, inching closer. Shiro curled in on himself, not looking at Keith.

Keith stood up slowly and went back into the breezeway. He unclipped Willie from the crossties and led him back to his stall. Willie saw the man huddled in the corner and walked over to him, nosing at his hair.

Shiro cried out, cradling his right arm to his chest. Willie lipped his hair, drooling on Shiro’s white forelock. Slowly, Shiro’s breathing evened out as Willie kept nuzzling him.

Keith unclipped the lead rope and sat down opposite Shiro. He waited.

How many times had he cried in Gator’s stall when he was younger? How many times had Coran sat opposite him and just waited for him to cry it out?

Willie sighed and stood over Shiro, ears flopping sideways as he relaxed. Shiro slowly reached his hand out, touching Willie’s knee. He inched closer, until he was practically kneeling at Willie’s feet, his head against the horse’s chest.

Keith watched, silent. He didn’t know what had set Shiro off, and it didn’t matter. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Coran and Allura, asking them to keep students and parents out of the therapy barn for a while. 

Shiro took a deep breath. “Keith?”

“I’m here,” Keith said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro choked out.

“Don’t be,” Keith said. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Shiro huddled against Willie, who seemed to be asleep. Shiro looked at Keith, then dropped his eyes, ashamed that Keith had seen him like that.

“Take as much time as you need,” Keith said. “I need to go unsaddle Gator. I’ll be right in the breezeway.”

Shiro nodded against Willie’s chest. Keith slowly climbed to his feet. Normally, he wouldn’t let someone sit at any horses’ feet like Shiro was. It was a blind spot for the horse, and having a one thousand pound hooved animal step on any part of your body hurt. 

He also knew Willie wouldn’t move until Shiro got up. The horse would stand stock still when someone was under him. Keith figured it was part of his police horse training. He patted Willie gently on the rump and eased out of the stall.

Shiro took a shuddering breath, the feel of Willie’s fur under his cheek comforting. He closed his eyes, counting his heartbeats. 

He felt useless. He should’ve just found an alley in the city to have his meltdown. He’d been on edge all day. One of the other people at the shelter had tried to steal his boots in the night, and Shiro had punched him. It had been a bad start to the day.

The shelter had threatened to throw him out again. 

As the day had progressed he could feel everyone’s eyes on him, on his arm, on his scars. He had ridden the bus out to Voltron even though he had tried to stay away on Saturdays since learning it was the heavy lesson day.

He had nearly wet himself when Coran—who he had only met once—had dropped a pitchfork. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding after that, and his vision narrowed. He had crawled into Willie’s stall and then…

The next thing he knew Willie was drooling on his head. He hadn’t blacked out like that in a long time. He hadn’t had a panic attack like that since walking out of Walter Reed National Military Medical Center nearly three years earlier. 

He eased back, looking up at Willie. Willie lowered his head and lipped at his face. Shiro managed to smile and used to the wall to get to his feet. He wrapped his arms around Willie’s neck and breathed in the unique smell of horse.

Keith glanced up from brushing Gator when Shiro led Willie from the stall and hooked him back into the crossties. Shiro shuffled closer to Keith and Gator, staring at his worn boots.

“Thanks,” Shiro said so quietly that Keith barely heard him.

Keith looked at him. “Anytime, Shiro, anytime.”

:::

Keith looked up with a smile the next day as Shiro walked into the barn, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his peacoat. Keith set the broom aside.

“So, I was thinking you and I could take Willie for a walk today,” Keith said. Shiro blinked at him, then nodded slowly.

Keith handed him Willie’s halter. “Go ahead and get him out.”

Shiro went to Willie’s stall and let himself in, making sure the door was latched behind him. He haltered Willie, much better at it than he had been. He reached over the door and unlatched it, leading Willie into the breezeway.

Keith stepped closer. “Remember not to loop the lead rope around your fingers.”

Shiro nodded. 

“Let’s go this way,” Keith said, leading the way out of the barn. Shiro stood still for a moment, then followed him out, Willie at his side. 

Keith led them to one of the pastures, empty. Keith opened the gate and gestured for Shiro to lead Willie through. He closed the gate behind them and set off for the copse of willow trees.

He didn’t say anything as he led Shiro through the shady paths. Willie walked eagerly next to Shiro, seemingly glad to be out and about. Keith glanced back occasionally to make sure Shiro and Willie were doing okay.

Shiro seemed to be more at ease today, although Keith would bet every dollar he had that the other man hadn’t slept well. Keith understood. He still had nightmares about some of the foster homes he’d been in. 

Keith stopped in the shade of one of the largest trees, waiting for Shiro and Willie to join him. He watched as Shiro rubbed the star on Willie’s head, glancing around the pasture. Keith leaned against the tree, running his fingers through his hair.

“Feel free to lead Willie around the property whenever you need time away from the barn,” Keith said. “This pasture will be empty until spring, so it’s a good one if you want to just walk. Just be sure to latch the gate in case Willie gets away from you.”

Shiro nodded. 

“Walk him around if you want. I’ll wait here,” Keith said, plopping down on the ground. He leaned against the tree and closed his eyes.

Shiro stared down at him for a moment. He really didn’t understand Keith. The man was so patient, and didn’t seem to judge him even after episodes like the day before. There was a depth to Keith that Shiro marveled at, and the man seemed to be at peace, and Shiro envied that.

“C’mon, Willie,” Shiro said quietly, leading the horse off. It was nice to just walk, and Willie seemed to be content to just walk with him.

Keith opened his eyes and watched them. He discreetly lifted his phone and took a picture of them. He smiled at the picture and closed his eyes again.

He wanted to know more about Shiro, but wouldn’t ask for more than he was offered. It wasn’t like he just opened up to anyone. It had taken him years to open up to Coran and Allura.

If it took years for Shiro to open up to him, he was okay with it.

He liked having Shiro around, and hoped that he would be there for however long it took for him to open up.

He smiled. He could hear Shiro talking softly to Willie as they walked the pasture. He couldn’t make out the words, but he was glad to hear Shiro’s voice. He still rarely talked to Keith, but Keith figured it was progress that Shiro was talking at all.

:::

A week later, Shiro showed up and had a brief moment of panic when the therapy barn was empty. He stood there, staring at Willie’s stall and felt like the world was falling away from under him.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he spun, grabbing the arm in a come along grip and throwing the person on the ground.

“Easy, Shiro!” Keith groaned, the air rushing from his lungs as Shiro slammed him into the ground. “It’s me!”

Shiro’s eyes widened and he immediately scuttled backwards, staring at Keith in horror.

“Oh, God, Keith! I’m so sorry,” Shiro said, covering his mouth. “I’ll…I’ll go. I’m sorry.”

Shiro got to his feet, hating himself. He hadn’t even thought, he had just reacted. He moved to the door, head down. Maybe it was time to move on, get out of the city. He had hurt the one person who didn’t judge him.

“Shiro, Shiro, wait!” Keith called, running after him. Shiro stopped, shoulders hunched. He looked at the ground, shaking slightly. Keith stopped next to him. “I’m sorry, Shiro. I should’ve let you know I was there.”

“I hurt you,” Shiro whispered. Keith could hear the pain in his voice.

“No,” Keith said firmly. “You knocked the wind out of me a bit, but less than falling off a horse. I should’ve given you a sign that I was there and not just grabbed you.”

Keith took a step closer, giving Shiro every chance to back away from him. Shiro stood perfectly still, barely breathing as Keith gently set his hands on his shoulders.

“It’s not your fault,” Keith said, ducking to meet Shiro’s eyes. “It’s mine. Don’t leave. Willie’s just turned out with the other therapy horses. I can go get him for you.”

Shiro took a deep breath. “He’s turned out?”

“Yeah. Gotta let them stretch their legs. They’re out in the arena. C’mon. I’ll take you.”

Keith could feel how tense Shiro was under his hands, and knew that Shiro felt awful for throwing him on the ground. Keith squeezed Shiro’s shoulders and stepped back. 

Keith turned and took a step, glancing back to see if Shiro is following. Shiro shuffled after him, feeling like the scum of the earth. He felt awful. How could Keith even look at him after that?

Shiro had reacted just like he had during that year. He shook his head. No. He couldn’t think about that. He clenched his cybernetic fist.

Keith led him silently to the outdoor arena. The eight horses of the therapy barn, including his Gator, were milling around the arena, nosing through the sand.

Keith rested his arms on one of the panels, watching as Gator dropped to her knees and rolled, legs flailing in the air. He snorted.

“You look like a beached whale, Gator!” he yelled. Gator lurched to her feet and took off across the arena, tail corkscrewed over her back. 

Shiro stood next to him, still tense. Slowly, he rested his own arms against the panel and let his eyes move over the horses.

Gator charged through the herd, scattering them. Willie bucked, galloping after the grey Arabian. Keith whistled, and Willie turned and trotted towards them.

_Sweet Willie Brown_

Shiro watched as Willie got closer, sliding to a stop in front of them. He waved his hand back and forth, clearing the dust from his face. He smiled as Willie hung his head over the fence.

Keith patted his neck. “You move pretty good for an old horse,” he said. Shiro scratched Willie’s head, and actually laughed when the horse pulled back and spun back to the arena, kicking up his heels.

Keith watched Shiro out of the corner of his eye. He liked Shiro’s laugh. He wanted to hear it again.

Shiro relaxed, enjoying watching the horses play. Gator continued to harass the other horses, and finally Dreamer bit her on the butt and sent her running.

Keith laughed. “Gator never did know when to quit bothering the other horses.”

“Is she okay?” Shiro asked.

“Oh yeah, she’s fine. Dreamer may have taken some hair off her ass but it’s a long way from her heart.”

Shiro nodded, turning his attention back to the horses. Willie rolled, clouds of dust billowing around him. 

Shiro didn’t understand how Keith could forgive him so easily. It could’ve been so much worse. What if he hadn’t recognized Keith’s voice?

Keith watched Shiro. He could see that Shiro was still bothered by what had happened. He wanted to wipe that miserable expression from his face. He gently nudged his arm.

“Hey. So we turn them out so I can strip their stalls and level them. Want to help?”

Shiro stared at him for a moment, then smiled. “So you just want me for my muscles?”

Keith grinned. “Well, you are built under that jacket. I bet you could lift stallmats no problem.”

Shiro felt like something in his chest was about to burst. No one ever wanted his help. He just wanted to feel useful, and Keith really seemed to want his help.

“Lead on,” Shiro says, gesturing back to the barn.

Keith smiled at him and headed back to the barn. Shiro glanced over his shoulder at the horses one last time. Willie and Dreamer stood side by side, head to tail, in the shade of the trees. Gator was eating any leaf that fell from the trees, chasing the other horses away from them.

Shiro sighed, feeling a little better.

He glanced up. Keith was waiting for him. Shiro hurried to join him, looking forward to physical labor. 

Looking forward to feeling helpful. 

It was something to look forward to, strangely enough.

Looking forward to something was such a strange feeling that he had to stop as they entered the barn.

Maybe, just maybe, things were starting to look up for him.

Maybe one day he would feel human again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a Twitter. I mostly just lurk and like lots of art. Feel free to scream at me about Sheith, horses, or anything.  
> [@Golden_asp](https://twitter.com/golden_asp)
> 
> The first picture is of Gator, taken while I was on her. The second one is one of my favorites of Willie.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro helps Keith level the stalls in the barn, and gets invited to a family dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up immediately where the last one ended. Less horse interaction in this one, but more Sheith interaction.  
> Thank you again for the amazing response to this story, and I hope you all continue to enjoy it.
> 
> not beta-ed

Shiro was sweating. He and Keith had been leveling stalls in the therapy barn for a couple of hours, and the work was hard. Shiro wanted to take his coat off, but he was afraid of Keith’s reaction.

People didn’t react well to the scars on his left arm, or his prosthetic. He never took his shirt off in front of people anymore. He didn’t want to deal with the stares. 

Keith had pulled his hair back in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. He had long since taken off his sweatshirt, revealing just a red Voltron Arabians tee, back soaked through with sweat.

Shiro groaned and rolled the stall mat in Dreamer’s stall up. He hoisted it over his shoulder and tossed it out into the run. He wiped sweat out of his eyes and grabbed the landscaping rake, joining Keith in flattening the holes Dreamer had managed to dig.

“How often do you do this?” Shiro panted. His muscles burned and he was actually enjoying himself.

Keith laughed, leaning on his rake. “Four times a year. Some of the stallions tend to pull the mats up and dig big holes in the show barn, but generally the stall mats stop them from forming really big holes.”

Keith leaned his rake against the wall and stepped out of the stall, going to the tack room. He pulled two waters out of the small refrigerator and went back to the stall. He handed Shiro the water.

Shiro thanked him and opened it, gulping it down quickly. Keith watched him. Shiro was flushed, and Keith had no idea how Shiro was still working with his peacoat on.

Shiro leaned against the wall. They had three more stalls to do still. He wiped more sweat off and looked at the ground.

He didn’t know how to broach the subject of taking his jacket off. He was very uncomfortable baring his arms in front of anyone, but he felt like he was going to pass out from heat exhaustion.

“Why don’t you take your coat off?” Keith asked quietly. He had a feeling Shiro was ashamed about his arm, but he really didn’t want the man to pass out while helping him.

Shiro stilled, compulsively rubbing his right arm. “I…I have pretty bad scars. Most people…they aren’t comfortable when they see them.” His voice was quiet, strained.

Keith took another drink of his water. He screwed the lid back on and set it down. He peeled his gloves off and turned his back to Shiro, lifting his shirt.

Shiro stared, confused by Keith’s actions. His eyes were drawn to a dark scar across Keith’s hip. Keith looked over his shoulder.

“I know what it’s like to have scars,” Keith said quietly. “This one was from one of my foster parents, when I was ten. She stabbed me.”

Shiro stared at him in horror. How anyone would want to do that to a child was beyond him.

Keith dropped his shirt and smiled at Shiro. “I’m not trying to outdo you, or whatever. It’s not a contest. I just want you to know that your scars aren’t going to scare me away. Whatever you have under that coat isn’t going to send me running. I’ve cleaned some nasty wounds on horses.”

Shiro looked at the ground. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing.

“I just…”

Keith put his hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “It’s okay. If you want I can go get you a long sleeved shirt from the gift shop.”

Shiro stared. “You have a gift shop?”

Keith laughed. “Yeah. Parents and kids love rocking the Voltron look at horse shows. And when we host shows visiting barns usually buy some souvenirs.”

Shiro shook his head. “I can’t afford a cheap shirt from Wal-Mart,” he muttered.

“You’re also helping me a lot today. If you want it, you can have it.”

Shiro shook his head again and took a deep breath. He hated feeling like he owed anyone anything, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to pay Keith back anytime soon. He unbuttoned his coat with fumbling fingers and shakily pushed it off.

He didn’t look at Keith as he went into the breezeway to hang his coat on a halter hook.

Keith’s eyes widened when he saw the thick scars on Shiro’s left arm. It looked like someone had taken a knife to him, carving into his skin. The scars disappeared under the sleeve of his well worn shirt. Keith wondered if they covered the rest of his body.

Shiro came back into the stall a moment later, tense under Keith’s gaze. Keith looked at the cybernetic arm out of the corner of his eye. It looked like it went up to Shiro’s bicep. Keith was fascinated by the arm, and part of him wanted to touch it, figure out how it worked.

He wasn’t stupid enough to ask.

“Better?” Keith asked. “You don’t look like you’re about to pass out anymore.”

Shiro’s face twisted into something like a smile. He was glad Keith didn’t seem put out by his scars, or seeing the arm fully for the first time. 

“Yeah,” Shiro said quietly, grabbing the rake again. Keith took the hint and grabbed his own, and they both went back to leveling Dreamer’s stall. By the time they were ready to put the stall mats back in, the silence was comfortable again.

Shiro easily lifted the stall mats and Keith helped him line them up. Keith grabbed two new bags of shavings and cut them open, and the two men kicked the clumps of shavings until the stall was covered.

Shiro stretched. His muscles burned and he liked it. He worked out regularly, mostly because he could lose himself in the motions of running, pushups, crunches. Actually getting to work and exhaust himself by being helpful was a great change.

“Alright,” Keith said, passing Shiro another water. “Three more and we’re done. I appreciate your help. It makes it go by a lot faster.”

Shiro swallowed his water. “My pleasure. It’s not often I get to feel useful.”

Keith wondered at that, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t press Shiro for any more than he was willing to give, and Shiro appreciated that.

The two men moved the next stall and started stripping it, shoveling all the shavings into the wheelbarrow and running the manure out to the manure pile.

They lost track of time, moving steadily through the stalls. They were in the last one when a voice called through the barn.

“Keith? Are you almost finished?” 

Shiro froze at the woman’s voice. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. He wasn’t ready for someone else to see his scars.

Keith set his rake against the wall and poked his head into the breezeway. “Hey, Allura. We’re on the last stall.”

“We?” Allura asked, stepping into the stall. “Oh, you must be Shiro!” she said with a smile, offering her left hand for him to shake.

Shiro stared at her like a deer in the headlights, slowly holding out his flesh and blood hand. She didn’t flinch as she gripped his hand in a firm handshake. She didn’t gape at his scars or his prosthetic. She just smiled at him like she was genuinely pleased to finally meet him.

“I’m Allura,” she said with a smile. “Keith’s told me a lot about you.”

“Allura,” Keith growled. She grinned and playfully shoved at Keith, giving Shiro a moment to study her.

Her skin was dark, and her platinum hair was in a tight braid down her back. She was nearly as tall as Shiro, long and lithe.

He rubbed at the scars on his left arm absently, swiping sweat off his brow again.

“Anyway, this is the last stall,” Keith said.

Allura nodded. “I do hope Keith didn’t force you into this, Shiro.”

Shiro looked surprised. “Ah, no, ma’am. I offered to help.”

Allura smiled blindingly at him. “That was very kind of you. Not many people want to help with this kind of physical labor.”

Shiro mumbled something. He wasn’t quite sure how to act around her. She smiled easily at him again.

“Coran is making burgers tonight. You must join us, Shiro.”

Shiro felt a brief moment of panic. “I’ll miss the bus,” he gasped out.

“I can give you a ride wherever you need to go,” Keith said softly. Shiro’s eyes darted to him. Keith could see the edge of panic in Shiro’s storm grey eyes. Keith approached him slowly.

“Feeding you is the least we can do after you helped me so much today,” Keith said. “Plus, Coran’s cheesy ranch burgers aren’t to be missed.” Keith really wanted him to stay. He had known Shiro for nearly two months and he still felt like he barely knew anything about the man.

“Please,” Allura added quietly. “Coran loves cooking for people.”

Shiro’s eyes darted back and forth between them. He had to admit that burgers sounded better than whatever slop the shelter would serve, and he was getting quite hungry.

“I can walk back,” Shiro mumbled.

“Absolutely not!” Allura said. “It’s twenty miles back to the city.”

“I don’t mind giving you ride, Shiro,” Keith said. “Please, stay for dinner.”

Shiro took a deep breath, calming his racing heart. He nodded shortly.

Allura beamed at him. “Wonderful. I’ll go tell Coran and then we’ll be back to help you bring the horses back in.” 

She patted Keith on the head and he growled at her, shoving her hand off him. She laughed, waving at Shiro as she practically skipped back out of the barn.

Shiro blinked, feeling rather baffled at the turn of events. Keith smiled wryly.

“Yeah, she’s like that. Hurricane Allura. She usually gets what she wants.”

Shiro shook his head. “I have no idea what just happened.”

Keith laughed, leveling the last corner of the stall. “I know the feeling.”

Shiro pulled the mats back into the stall and quietly helped Keith line them up. “You’re really okay with me staying for dinner?” he asked as they kicked shavings around.

“More than okay with it,” Keith said immediately. He still couldn’t believe he had just shown Shiro his scar. He never showed anyone that, but he had wanted to make Shiro comfortable, and if the only way to do that was to show him some of the terrors of his past, then he would. He was happy now, occasional nightmares notwithstanding. 

Shiro nodded, grabbing both rakes and hanging them up outside the barn. He grabbed his coat and pulled it back on. He wasn’t ready to go without it in front of Coran. He had barely managed to stop from throwing himself outside so Allura couldn’t see him.

Keith looked up as Coran and Allura joined them. “Shall we go get them from the arena then?” Coran asked, flashing a smile at Shiro.

Shiro tried to smile back, although he wasn’t sure how successful he was.

Allura led them to the arena, gathering up four lead ropes from the ground and passing them out. She opened the gate and they followed her through. 

The horses gathered around them, shoving each other aside to get closer. Shiro clipped the lead rope to Willie’s halter, rubbing his forehead with his left hand.

Willie nudged him, and Shiro smiled. He didn’t notice Allura watching them with a smile.

Keith grabbed Gator, and Coran caught Dreamer. Allura clipped her lead rope to the halter of a grey mare that looked like Gator, only fatter. Shiro thought the horse’s name was Chatty.

Keith led the way back to the gate, and Allura drove the four loose horses back so they didn’t rush the gate. Coran waited with Shiro while Keith latched the gate. Allura led the way back to the barn, Chatty trotting next to her.

Shiro led Willie to his stall and let him in, turning him to face the stall door before taking his halter off. Willie nosed Shiro’s arm once then turned away, pawing at the fresh shavings. His knees buckled and he went down, rolling in the fresh shavings.

Shiro stepped back as Willie lurched to his feet, shaking his whole body and sending loose shavings flying. Shiro couldn’t help but laugh as Willie went down again to get his other side.

Shiro let himself out of Willie’s stall, hanging his halter on the hook next to the door. Keith smiled at him.

“They always do that with fresh shavings. Must feel good,” he said. 

“Let’s get the other four then we can feed them and Coran can start cooking,” Allura said.

“Sounds good,” Keith said, and they all went back down to the arena to get the remaining horses. Two bay mares charged ahead of the others, the smaller one slowing to a stop in front of Shiro.

_Daetyme and Irish_

Shiro pet the forehead of the horse that walked up to him, another older mare named Daetyme.

“That’s Dreamer’s older sister,” Coran said, catching a bay mare with a long face and white stripe down her face.

“She’s sweet,” Shiro said quietly.

“She is,” Coran said cheerfully. “And this is Irish, Daetyme and Dreamer’s sister.” He waited for Keith and Allura to catch the other two horses and led them to back to the barn.

Shiro led Daetyme to her stall and let her go, watching as she rolled in the shavings. He hung her green halter on the hook and stood there, wondering what to do.

Keith smiled at him. “C’mon, I’ll show you how to mix Willie’s grain. We’ll feed the therapy barn if you two can get the show barn.”

“Oh sure, give us the big barn,” Coran said, rolling his eyes.

Keith grinned at him and dragged Shiro over to a large freezer. He lifted the top and Shiro was surprised to see it full of grain.

“Senior feed,” Keith said. “So, Willie gets quite a bit of the stuff. He really doesn’t have the teeth left to eat the alfalfa. He gets three of these green scoops morning and night.”

Shiro looked up when he heard Willie start whinnying, and what sounded like metal on wood.

Keith grinned. “Every feeding time, he grabs his feeder and knocks it around until he gets fed.”

Keith handed Shiro a bucket full of grain. “Go ahead and go dump that in his feeder.”

Shiro nodded and walked to Willie’s stall, opening the feed door and dumping the bucket in. Willie dove face first into the grain, sighing happily. Shiro shut the feed door and walked back to Keith.

Keith had seven other buckets lined up, with varying amounts of grain in each. Keith pointed out which bucket went to what horse, and Shiro took the grain to the horses. None of the horses were quite as vocal as Willie had been, but they were all clearly impatient to be fed.

Keith put all the buckets back in the freezer and shut it. He led Shiro to the haystack and pulled a bale of hay into the hay cart. Shiro followed him back to the barn. Keith showed him how the bale fell into flakes and then shoved flakes into each feeder.

Keith pushed the partial bale to the show barn. Shiro looked around. He’d never been in this barn before.

It was much bigger, less shabby, and had a lot more horses in it. He jumped when a red horse slammed into the stall door and seemed to scream at them.

Keith jumped at the horse, shouting. The horse spun, ducking out into his run and looking around the corner, defined ears forward.

Shiro’s heart pounded. “What the hell was that?”

“Braze, one of our stallions,” Keith said, shoving a flake into Braze’s feeder. “He’s actually a big wuss once you get to know him. He just gets cranky at feeding time.”

Shiro looked in the stall. Braze was a deep red with lighter mane and tail, a blaze down his face and four high white socks. Braze looked at him, then went to his feeder, tearing into the flake of hay with gusto.

“I’ll say he was cranky,” Shiro muttered. He grabbed a flake and put it in another feeder. The black horse pinned his ears back and went for the hay.

“This is stallion row, by the way,” Keith said, finishing up the bale. “We do breed horses here, and these guys all stand at stud. Braze you met. Barberry is Braze’s sire, and Allura’s endurance horse. He’s the grey on the end. He’s much more laid back than Braze.”

Shiro looked in Barberry’s stall. The older stallion left his hay briefly, nosing Shiro’s hand before turning back to his food. Shiro smiled, listening to the sound of the horses eating.

Keith smiled slightly. “Let’s get this cart back to the haystack then we’ll head to the house.”

Shiro nodded, a little nervous again. He walked behind Keith as the man walked back to the haystack. Keith pulled down a bale and put it in the cart for the morning.

“C’mon, let’s go to the house,” Keith said, heading off to the big house on the property. Shiro followed him.

“The dogs get excited but they don’t bite,” Keith said, opening the gate. Shiro stepped in and stopped as seven dogs ran to greet them, barking happily.

He leaned over and scratched a white lab on the head. She groaned and collapsed at his feet, rolling onto her back.

“That’s Tundra,” Keith said. “Coran got her from a friend in Alaska.”

Shiro rubbed Tundra’s belly then stood up. Tundra sat up and looked at him mournfully for stopping, then trotted off after the other dogs. Keith led Shiro into the house.

Shiro stopped in the entry way, feeling very out of place. It was wide and spacious. The floors were hardwood, and thick rugs covered much of it. He could see a nice couch and many pictures on the walls.

“Just wipe the bottom of your boots off. We’re going to eat on the patio,” Allura said, walking by with a plate full of uncooked burgers. Shiro nodded and vigorously scraped his boots clean.

Keith led him through the house after Allura. Shiro’s eyes were caught by a picture and he veered over to look at it.

“Holy shit,” he muttered.

“What?” Keith asked, stopping next to him. Allura paused and watched. Shiro looked at her.

“You’re Alfor Altea’s daughter?” he asked quietly. 

She smiled at him. “I am. Did you meet him?”

“Once. He came to my middle school and talked about the Navy. He made quite the impression on me,” Shiro said.

Allura stepped up next to Shiro, looking at the picture. It was of her father in front of an F-14 Tomcat, flight helmet under his arm and a grin on his face. “He loved to fly,” she said wistfully.

Shiro nodded. “He was a good man.”

She smiled again, facing Shiro. “He was. He would be glad to know he influenced you. Were you a sailor?”

Keith froze. He had never asked Shiro what branch of military Shiro had served in. It had always felt like it was off limits. 

Shiro swallowed hard. “I was a pilot in the Navy,” he said after a moment.

Allura nodded. She could see that Shiro didn’t want to talk about it. “My father did so love to fly. Keith, can you and Shiro bring out plates?”

“Sure thing, Allura,” Keith said.

Shiro followed Keith into the large kitchen, silently holding whatever Keith told him to. He followed him out onto the patio and inhaled. The burgers smelled wonderful. His mouth watered.

Keith set the plates on the small picnic table and tossed a bag of potato chips in the center.

“Shiro, what do you want to drink?” Keith asked. “We have beer, wine, sweet tea, lemonade, water…uh, milk, I think.”

“Lemonade, please,” Shiro said. He stayed away from alcohol. Keith nodded and ducked back into the house, coming back out with two glasses of lemonade. He directed Shiro to sit at the table and handed him his drink.

Shiro took a sip. It was very good, much better than the canned stuff he sometimes managed to get.

Coran sang off key while he stood at the grill. Allura rolled her eyes fondly, setting macaroni salad on the table and getting a beer for herself and Coran.

Shiro sat silently, sipping his lemonade. Tundra waddled over and rested her head on his thigh. Shiro scratched her head, not looking at anyone.

_Tundra_

Keith and Allura talked easily, mostly about their students and the four mares that were pregnant. Shiro listened, glad he didn’t have to contribute.

Coran set a plate of burgers on the table along with toasted buns. “Dinner is served,” he said.

“Yum,” Keith said, reaching for the condiments. He put a little mustard on his burger, and slapped lettuce, tomato and onion on it. He grabs a handful of chips and a scoop of macaroni salad and sat back down.

Shiro waited for Allura and Coran to serve themselves before tentatively making his own burger. He put a good amount of ketchup on it, and onion. He took some chips and macaroni salad, setting his plate carefully down in front of him. 

He lifted the burger and took a bite. It was, quite possibly, one of the best things he had tasted in a long time. He ate quietly, listening to the easy conversation around him. He finished his burger and picked up a fork with his left hand. He methodically ate the macaroni salad and then moved onto the chips.

“There’s plenty more,” Coran said. “Have another.”

Shiro looked at them. Allura was still on her first one. Coran and Keith were both making their second. Shiro took another burger and made it up identically to the first, enjoying the explosion of flavor on his tongue.

He finished his second, starting to feel slightly full. He marveled at the feeling. He never got full on what they served at the shelter.

“Have the last one, Shiro,” Keith said, munching on a chip.

Shiro looked at the burger. “I don’t want to presume.”

“Have it,” Allura said. “The dogs will be disappointed, but I’d much rather see you eat it. The dogs don’t need a burger, no matter what they think.”

Coran laughed. “Eat it, Shiro.”

Shiro nodded, fixing up the last one. He felt a little self-conscious as he ate. The others didn’t watch him, they just kept up their easy conversation.

Shiro finished his burger, feeling delightfully full. He glanced at his worn watch. The last bus of the evening had already passed.

He kept petting Tundra’s head, sneaking her a chip. Keith saw and grinned at him. Shiro flushed slightly at being caught.

He finished his lemonade, relaxing in his seat.

Coran stood up and started cleaning up the table. Shiro stood and started to help, taking the paper plates to the garbage. Keith stood up and went to the kitchen, filling a water bottle with lemonade and handing it to Shiro.

Shiro thanked him, turning the bottle over in his hands.

“You ready?” Keith asked quietly.

Shiro nodded. He turned to Coran and Allura, bowing slightly.

“Thank you for dinner. It was very good,” he said.

“You’re most welcome, my boy,” Coran said easily, taking another drink of his beer. Allura smiled at him.

“You’re very welcome, Shiro. Thank you for helping Keith with the barn.”

Shiro nodded again, and followed Keith out of the house. He tucked the bottle of lemonade into the pocket of his coat and followed Keith to an older truck. Shiro thought it was red, although it was hard to tell in the dark.

“Hop in,” Keith said, pulling himself into the driver’s seat. Shiro opened the passenger door and climbed in. The inside of the truck was clean, and smelled vaguely of hay.

The truck started easily, the engine rumbling. They both buckled their seatbelts and Keith backed the truck up. He turned on the headlights and started down the long driveway.

“Can you stop here?” Shiro asked near the end of the driveway. Keith frowned but pulled to a stop. 

Shiro unbuckled his seatbelt and hopped out of the truck. Keith watched as Shiro walked to some of the hedges that bordered Voltron Arabians. Shiro knelt, reaching under the hedge and pulling out a faded duffle bag.

He walked back to the truck and got back in, holding the bag to his chest.

Keith tilted his head. “You can just bring that to the barn, you know,” he said softly, pulling out onto the road.

Shiro hugged the bag. “I didn’t want to take up space,” he whispered. 

“We have plenty of free lockers in the tack room. You can put it there.”

Shiro nodded, looking at his boots. “I can’t leave it at the shelter.”

Keith hummed. “People try to steal it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Shiro said softly.

“Been there. I was in a group home for a while and I had so much of my stuff stolen. Pain in the ass. Of course, I was kicked out for punching the guy who tried to steal my stuff, but it felt good in the moment,” Keith said.

Shiro glanced at Keith. He wondered what kind of life he’d led as a child. He had been stabbed by a foster parent and had been in a group home. He hugged his bag tighter to his chest.

“I’m not real popular at the shelter,” Shiro said after a moment. He knew that half the things that happened there were because he wasn’t liked. No one liked his breakdowns, his nightmares.

“You seem like a nice guy,” Keith said. “The horses like you.”

Shiro snorted. “If only people were as easy to impress as the horses.”

“Amen, right?” Keith asked. “The horses are so much easier to deal with than the people.”

They fell into silence. The city came into view, lights polluting the sky.

“The downtown shelter by the bus stop?” Keith asked as he drove closer to the city.

“Yes, please,” Shiro said.

Keith nodded and headed for the downtown exit. He got off the freeway and drove towards the downtown shelter. It wasn’t in the greatest area, even though it was right next to the minor league baseball park.

Keith parked the truck and they sat in silence for a moment.

“Thanks for the ride,” Shiro said, opening the door. He stared at the shelter with flat eyes.

“Anytime,” Keith said. “You coming out tomorrow?”

Shiro nodded. 

Keith smiled. “Great. I bet I can find more chores for us to do.”

Shiro laughed quietly. “I’d be happy to help.”

Keith smiled at him. “Have a good night, Shiro.”

“You too, Keith. Thank you again.”

Keith nodded as Shiro shut the door with a snap. He shouldered his bag and walked slowly to the doors of the shelter. Keith watched as Shiro’s body posture changed the closer he got to the shelter. His shoulders slumped, and he seemed to shrink in on himself. Keith frowned as Shiro opened the doors and disappeared into the shelter.

He waited a moment, then pulled his truck back onto the street. He had a lot to think about. 

He drove back to Voltron in silence, thinking about Shiro. When he parked his truck, he got out and did a walkthrough of the barns. The horses were still eating, content and making happy horse noises.

He went to his apartment in the foaling barn and flopped onto the couch. He stared at the ceiling, not bothering to turn on the lights. He was feeling restless. He thought about the scars on Shiro’s arm and wondered what had caused them.

He wondered if Shiro would be interested in learning to ride. He’d broach the subject later. Maybe tomorrow, if Shiro was communicative. 

Keith rolled to his feet and went to take a shower. He couldn’t worry about it now. He’d try to sleep on what he’d learned about Shiro and see where the next day took him.

:::

Shiro moved into the common area of the shelter. People grumbled at him, glaring as he stepped over them and looked for an empty space to sleep. The shelter was overcrowded and it was only going to get worse as colder temperatures set in.

Shiro finally found a spot in the corner of the room and sat down. He pulled his worn wool army blanket from his bag and wrapped it around him. He put the duffle bag under his head and tied the laces of his boots together to make them more difficult to steal.

He sighed, curling into a ball and closing his eyes. He had to admit that the thought of going to sleep feeling completely full was a novel experience. His body was exhausted and his mind was mostly quiet.

He drifted to sleep, his last conscious thought of Keith’s easy smile with him.

For once, he dreamed of the horses and Keith, and not the horrors of his past. It was the best night sleep he’d had in a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro meets the farrier, finds out about Keith's birthday and has a mild crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy very late birthday Keith chapter!
> 
> A little less horses, a little more Shiro outside of Voltron and an appearance by Shay!
> 
> Sorry for the delay, I hope everyone still enjoys this.
> 
> How bout that season 4 eh?

Shiro walked to the therapy barn, watching his boots. It had been about two weeks since he had eaten dinner with Keith and the others. He had been quiet, still trying to come to terms with it.

It was strange to feel accepted. Keith had been relaxed and quiet around him, giving him the space he needed. Allura and Coran hadn’t done more than greet him if they happened to see him. They hadn’t pushed him. He appreciated it.

Shiro paused. A large white truck was parked out front of the therapy barn with horse shoe magnets down the side of it.

Shiro eased past it, a little nervous about more people being in the barn, but he needed to see Willie.

Willie was in the middle of the breezeway, Keith standing next to him and holding his leadline. There was another man, holding up Willie’s front right leg and doing…something. Shiro couldn’t see.

Keith looked up and smiled when he heard footsteps.

“Hey, Shiro,” Keith said.

“Keith,” Shiro said quietly, stopping.

Keith rubbed Willie’s head. “This is Luke, our farrier. Pedicure day for the therapy barn.”

“Hello,” Shiro said awkwardly. 

“Pleasure,” the man said.

Shiro looked at Keith. “What is he doing?”

“Trimming Willie’s feet. Horses need to be trimmed about every six to eight weeks or so, depending on the horse. He takes off excess growth, shapes the hooves, makes sure their feet are healthy. Want to hold Willie?”

Shiro blinked at him. That was a lot of information to take in. “Sure.”

Keith handed him the leadrope. “Just be sure to stay on the same side of the horse as Luke.”

Shiro nodded, patting Willie’s neck. He could just make out the bottom of Willie’s foot as Luke took an oddly shaped knife to it.

“I’m getting this stuff out of the way so I can see his frog and make sure all’s good,” Luke said, reaching behind him to hand Shiro a small piece of hoof. Shiro turned it over in his hand, looking at it.

“Frog?” Shiro asked after a moment.

Luke pointed to the v shape on the bottom of Willie’s foot. “The frog.”

“Why is it called a frog?” Shiro asked.

Keith laughed. “I always figured some poor frog got stepped on back in the day and sacrificed itself for horse kind everywhere.”

Shiro stared at him like he was nuts. “What?”

Luke just laughed, grabbing what looked a giant toenail clipper and nipping off hoof. He handed the hoof clipping to Shiro. Shiro messed with it, noting that it had just a bit of give.

He watched as Luke filed Willie’s hoof smooth, then set his foot down. Luke moved to Willie’s back foot and kept talking to Keith, telling what seemed to Shiro to be a wild story about a cowboy camp and snakes falling from trees.

Luke set Willie’s back foot down and looked at each foot. He patted Willie’s butt. “He’s good to go back.”

Keith stood up. “Go ahead and put him back, Shiro.”

Shiro nodded, leading Willie back to his stall. He stood in the stall with Willie for a moment, wrapping his arms around Willie’s neck and breathing deeply.

Keith wrote a check for Luke. “Willie was the last one today.”

“Sounds good,” Luke said, cleaning up his gear.

“Two weeks then?” Keith asked, handing Luke the check. 

“’Course,” Luke said, folding the check and putting it in his wallet. “Nice to meet you, Shiro,” he called as he walked by Willie’s stall.

“Same,” Shiro said, barely loud enough to be heard.

Keith waved as Luke drove off, then turned back to the barn. He found Shiro in Willie’s stall, hugging the horse.

Willie stood still, head down, letting Shiro hug him as long as he needed.

“Hey,” Keith said, leaning on the door.

Shiro looked at him. “Hey.”

“I have lessons in twenty minutes. You going to be good on your own? You can pull him out, brush him, walk him around, whatever.”

Shiro nodded. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

Keith smiled, then went to pull Gator out. He quickly brushed her and saddled her up, knocking her head away whenever she tried to rub on him. “Rude,” he said to her.

He slipped her bridle on and grabbed his dark red helmet. He waved to Shiro as he walked by, heading for the indoor arena attached to the show barn.

Shiro waved back and slowly rubbed the curry over Willie’s fur. Willie relaxed, shifting his hips every once and while.

“Shall we take a walk?” Shiro asked him, clipping the leadrope back to his halter and undoing the crossties. Willie bobbed his head as they walked out of the barn. Shiro headed for the empty pasture and led Willie through the gate, latching it closed behind them.

Shiro kept quiet, looking at his feet as they walked. Willie paced along next to him, pausing occasionally to snag a dead leaf off the ground.

Shiro sat on a log, letting Willie clip at the brown grass. He rubbed his right knee. It had been bothering him off and on since he had helped Keith level the barn.

Not that it surprised him. He could feel the scar tissue under his hand. He sighed, staring up at the sky.

“I don’t know, anymore, Willie. I’m starting to think…no…doesn’t matter.”

Willie lifted his head, pricking his ears at Shiro. Shiro dug in his pocket and pulled out a cookie. Willie took it from him, crunching happily and raining little chunks of cookie on Shiro’s shoulder.

Shiro smiled, stroking Willie’s nose.

:::

Keith looked around after the lesson. He smiled when he saw Shiro and Willie heading slowly back for the barn, but noted that Shiro was limping again.

He had noticed it the day after Shiro had helped him with the barn. Shiro had tried to hide it, but Keith seemed to be very in tune with Shiro. It didn’t even make that much sense to Keith. He hadn’t felt like that in tune with someone in, well, ever.

Shiro walked back into the barn, flinching slightly as he led Willie into his stall. His hands shook as he took Willie’s halter off.

He leaned against the wall, breathing hard. His knee throbbed with every beat of his heart.

“Hey, sit down,” Keith said, taking his elbow and leading him to the bench. Shiro didn’t even flinch at Keith’s touch, which told him how much the taller man was hurting.

“Did Willie kick you?” Keith asked.

Shiro shook his head. “Old injury.”

“You want some ice?” Keith asked. Shiro looked uncomfortable, but finally nodded. Keith squeezed his shoulder and went to the small fridge in the tack room. He pulled out one of the ice packs and wrapped it in a towel, carrying it back to Shiro.

Shiro took it with a smile and pressed it against his knee. He groaned. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I want you to come back, you know.”

Shiro managed another smile, letting the cold ease his aches.

“Mr. Keith?” a voice called. Shiro watched as a girl ran up to him. Keith smiled at her.

“What can I do for you, Gabby? I thought you were on your way out?”

“I am. Mom’s waiting. I wanted to give you this!” She handed him a bag with a birthday cake on it. “Bye!” she waved at both Keith and Shiro, turning around and rushing back outside.

“Have fun on vacation,” Keith called after her. He opened the bag and pulled out a small stuffed hippo. He laughed, sticking it back in the bag. 

He looked up to see Shiro watching him with a confused look on his face. Keith was still smiling. “My birthday is next week.”

“A hippo?”

“Hey, I love hippos.”

Shiro let out a small laugh. “Okay. How old are you going to be?”

“Twenty-six,” Keith said, sticking the bag on the bench.

Shiro glanced at him. Keith was nearly ten years younger him. Not quite, but Shiro felt much older than his thirty-four years.

“And hippos?”

“Allura let it slip one year that I like hippos, and the kids have been giving me hippo related things since.”

“That…okay.” Shiro really had no idea what to say. Keith laughed.

“Allura thought it was funny that my favorite animal’s the hippo. I personally love the collection of hippo things I have from my students now.”

Shiro smiled at him, then pulled the ice off his knee. “I should be heading back,” he said, handing the ice pack back.

“See you tomorrow?” Keith asked as Shiro stood up and opened the locker where he kept his faded bag.

Shiro nodded. “I plan on it.”

Shiro waved and started walking towards the bus stop, his limp slightly less noticeable. He paused to pick something off the ground and then stuck it in his bag.

Keith watched as he disappeared, a frown on his face. “What happened to you, Shiro?” he whispered.

He tucked the bag from Gabby under his arm and went to drop it in his apartment, mind troubled.

:::

Shiro sat in his favorite chair in the downtown branch of the local library. He had a stack of horse books next to him, but the one on his lap was about hippos.

He felt like an idiot. There was no way Keith would actually want something from him. Was it even appropriate? It wasn’t like he could buy anything when he could barely manage to buy his monthly bus pass.

He stared at pictures of hippos, committing them to memory. He stood up and stretched. He waved to Shay, the librarian, and headed for the bathrooms, his bag under his arm.

He ducked into the gender neutral bathroom, which up until that year had just been called the family bathroom. He locked the door behind him and sighed.

This was so humiliating. 

He quickly stripped, pulling a small washcloth out of his bag and getting it wet. He wiped his body down, not looking in the mirror, not dwelling on the feel of the scars under the cloth.

He yanked on a pair of clean underwear and put his clothes back on. He put his dirty socks and underwear in the sink and washed them quickly, wringing out the excess water and folding them in a sandwich bag.

He used the showers at the shelter, but only when no one else was awake and he could turn the lights off so he didn’t have to look at his own body.

He was pretty sure Shay knew what he was doing, but she never asked him to leave. He used soap to scrub the sink clean and slipped back out, heading back for his corner.

He pulled out the little piece of wood he’d found at Voltron a few days earlier and turned it over in his hands. He couldn’t believe he was considering this. He stuck it back in his bag and took the hippo book up to Shay.

“Can I get a copy of this picture?” he asked, pointing with his left hand. He handed her a dime, trying to flinch at the thought of losing even that small amount of coin.

She smiled brightly at him, taking the book and sliding his dime back to him. “Of course. Just the one of the hippo?”

“Yes, please,” Shiro said quietly, pocketing the dime. Shay made the copy for him, handing him the black and white photocopy and book.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been reading a lot of horse books,” she said easily.

Shiro nodded. “I started going out to Voltron Arabians…”

Shay’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I’ve heard about them. Are you riding?”

Shiro shook his head. “I’m part of…their therapy program,” he finished quietly. Saying it out loud made him flinch, like he was admitting to being broken.

He knew he was broken, he just didn’t want everyone else to realize just how many pieces he’d been shattered into.

Shay just smiled at him softly. “And is it helping?”

He was silent a moment. “I think so,” he whispered.

She smiled and squeezed his left hand gently. “Good. I’ll have Hunk bake them a cake.”

He looked at her in surprise. She laughed. “I’m glad you’re getting out and doing things, Shiro.”

He looked at his hands; one flesh and blood, the other metal. “So am I,” he whispered. “So am I.”

:::

Shiro had gone back to Voltron a few times and managed to nail down the exact date of Keith’s birthday without directly asking the man.

His palms got sweaty just thinking about it. Well, one palm did.

Keith’s birthday was the next day. He took a shaky breath as he brushed Willie. He rested his forehead against Willie’s neck.

“Am I being stupid, Willie?” he asked quietly. 

Willie nodded his head up and down, turning his head to nose at Shiro’s pocket. Shiro couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped him. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the horse cookie, holding it out to Willie. “Maybe you’re right, Willie. I am thinking too hard about this.”

It was easy to say that now, but he knew in the darkness of the shelter that night he’d toss and turn, panicking about it.

He shoved those thoughts aside, turning back to brushing Willie.

He knew better than to dwell in those dark places, but he also knew how tantalizingly those dark corners sang to him.

He was intimate with that darkness.

:::

The next morning, Shiro went to the library first. He smiled timidly at Shay.

“Shiro, you’re here early today,” she said.

“I was wondering…if you had any old newspapers you’re just going to get rid of?” he asked.

She tilted her head, but nodded, pulling out a stack of month old papers. “What do you need?”

“The funnies from one of them?” 

She pulled out the page and handed it to him. He set his bag down and rifled through it, pulling out a small wooden hippo.

She leaned forward, looking at it. “Did you carve this?” she asked.

Shiro nodded, cheeks flushing slightly.

“Shiro, it’s beautiful!” Shay said. “May I?” she asked, reaching to it. He nodded again.

She picked it up, turning it in her hands. “You’re quite good at this.” She could feel the grain of the wood beneath her fingers, the marks from whatever blade Shiro had used to carve it.

Shiro scratched the back of his neck. “I was better…before…”

“Nonsense,” Shay said, setting the little hippo back down. “This is very well done. Is it for someone special?”

Shiro blushed harder again, stammering something, heart pounding. She touched his left hand. “Shiro, it’s fine. Breathe, sweetheart.”

He looked at her, grey eyes wide as he struggled to catch his breath. He rubbed at his face, hands shaking.

“I’m sure whoever it is will love it,” she said gently. “What did you need the paper for?”

“I…I…I was going to wrap it,” he managed to get out.

She smiled and took the hippo and the funnies page, cutting the paper down to size and carefully wrapping the little hippo, sealing it all with one piece of tape. “I have a brown paper lunch bag. You can put it in that and write their name on it, if you want.”

Shiro sniffed, then nodded. “Yes please.”

She reached under the counter and pulled out a bag and a sharpie. He took the sharpie carefully in his metal hand. He never had figured out how to write well with his left.

Slowly, he meticulously spelled out _To: Keith, From Shiro_ trying not to blush.

Shay took the bag and put the wrapped hippo in it, folding the top and stapling it. “There you go. I’m sure this Keith will love it, Shiro.”

Shiro nodded, carefully putting the hippo on the top of his folded blanket in his bag.

“Thank you, Shay,” he said.

“Of course. Oh, before you go, here,” she handed him a box. He opened it, revealing a couple of muffins.

“They’re the ones that weren’t pretty enough to be sold. Hunk sends them with regards.”

“I’ve never even met Hunk,” Shiro pointed out. 

Shay laughed. “But I vouch for you, and he always makes way too much. Take them and go, Shiro.”

He bowed slightly, holding the two muffins to his chest. “Thank you.”

“Good luck!” Shay called as he turned to walk out the door.

Shiro waited for the bus, taking a bite of the slightly deformed blueberry muffin and closing his eyes.

It was nice to have something besides runny oatmeal for breakfast.

He got on the bus and ate the second muffin before they reached Voltron, trying to ignore the way his stomach seemed to get tighter the closer the bus got.

:::

Shiro swallowed hard. There were more cars than he had expected for the middle of the week, and shit, were those balloons?

His heart pounded in his chest as he moved slowly towards the therapy barn. His throat felt constricted, and breathing was hard. He clung to the paper bag with the hippo in it and closed his eyes, counting backwards from one thousand.

“..ro? Shiro?” he heard a soft voice at his shoulder.

He gasped and looked up, looking into Allura’s worried eyes. She guided him to the edge of the driveway.

“Are you alright?” she asked kindly. 

He took a deep breath, hands shaking. “I wasn’t expecting so many people…” he wheezed.

She nodded. “One of our students decided to throw Keith a surprise party.”

He closed his eyes. He could hear laughter from the barn, and the sound of more people than he wanted to be around when he was already feeling nervous and shaky.

“Shiro?” she asked again.

He shoved the paper bag in her hands. “Please give this to Keith,” he said in a rush. “I can’t do this…”

She swore his storm grey eyes were swimming with tears as he practically sprinted back to the bus stop.

She turned the paper bag over in her hands, smiling slightly at the careful handwriting. She looked up as the bus pulled away. She could just make out Shiro in the back, looking miserable.

She turned to the barn and walked in, waving at various students. She moved towards Keith, who was talking to Coran. Most of their students were eating cake and chatting happily, watching the stallion that was turned out in the arena to stretch his legs.

Keith smiled at her as she joined him and Coran. He had a red solo cup full of soda in one hand and a party hat with a red lion on his head.

“Shiro left this for you,” Allura said, handing him the bag.

Keith’s eyes widened. He looked around. “Is he here?”

Allura shook her head. “I ran into him in the driveway. He shoved it into my hands and ran back to the bus. I don’t think he was expecting this many people and he seemed nervous anyway,” she said softly.

Keith bit the inside of his lip. He set his cup down and gently pulled the staples out of the bag. He reached in and couldn’t help the laugh at seeing the funnies used as wrapping paper.

Allura took the bag and she and Coran watched as Keith peeled the tape off and reveal the little wooden hippo.

Keith smiled, running his finger over the hippo’s back. “I…I think he made this.”

Coran leaned close to look at it. “Seems that way,” he said cheerfully.

“And he left?” Keith asked again, looking at Allura.

She nodded. “He seemed close to having an anxiety attack about it,” she said gently. “I think he was afraid of your reaction to it as well.”

Keith rolled the little wooden hippo in his hand. “Thanks, Allura.”

She nodded, and she and Coran traded glances as Keith wandered off, staring at the hand carved hippo in his hand.

:::

Shiro didn’t show up for a few days, and Keith was starting to panic. What if he never came back?

Keith was a little surprised at how much the thought of never seeing Shiro again hurt. Sure, the other man had been coming around since late August, and Keith felt like he still barely knew the guy, but Keith liked him, enjoyed his company. He _wanted_ Shiro to come back.

It kind of surprised him.

He brought his mind back to the lesson he was giving, watching the girls and their horses canter around the arena.

Allura walked into the arena and walked straight up to him. “I thought you’d like to know he’s here,” she whispered.

Keith looked at her sharply, relief bursting in his chest like a balloon. 

Allura smiled. “He’s brushing Willie. He looks like he’s barely slept, but he came back.”

Keith nodded, taking a deep breath and letting his tension ease out of him.

“Thank you,” he said to her. He was nearly done with the lesson. He could talk to Shiro after, even if he really just wanted to charge into the therapy barn and make sure he was okay.

Allura squeezed his arm and walked back out.

Keith finished giving his lesson in a daze. As soon as he was done, he instructed the girls to walk their horses for fifteen minutes and darted out of the arena.

He practically sprinted back to the therapy barn and there he was.

He had Willie in the crossties, dragging a body brush over Willie’s sides.

Keith studied him for a moment. He had circles under his eyes and his jacket seemed to fit looser, which worried him.

Had Shiro really thought that Keith would reject the little gift?

Keith scrapped his boot along the floor. Shiro paused, tensing slightly. Willie shifted, sensing the tension.

Keith gently put his hand on Shiro’s shoulder. He leaned closer.

“Shiro, it’s my favorite hippo I’ve ever gotten. Thank you,” Keith whispered. He squeezed Shiro’s shoulder and let go, stepping back.

Shiro was still rigid, but he slowly relaxed, shoulders dropping. “You’re welcome,” he whispered. 

Keith smiled blindingly at him. He wasn’t lying. The little hippo was on his nightstand, right next to his alarm clock.

He turned and walked to Gator’s stall, letting himself in and leaving Shiro alone.

Shiro looked after him, his shoulder burning where Keith had touched him. He touched his shoulder, the ghost of Keith’s touch still there. 

Keith left him feeling more emotionally confused than he had since before his F-18 had been shot out of the sky.

He rubbed his shoulder, laughing quietly when Willie bumped him, clearly tired of waiting.

He couldn’t stop the soft smile that crossed his face.

For once he didn’t even try to stop it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are love!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith gets Shiro on a horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro finally gets on Willie, much to his own surprise. I hope everyone is still enjoying this. I actually know where it's going now, because when I started I was just writing. XD
> 
> not beta-ed

The first week of November rolled around, and the weather was unseasonably warm. Shiro appreciated it. Winters were hard. He wished he had a warmer jacket, but his old peacoat was better than nothing.

He’d had nothing before.

He set Willie’s brush down and leaned against the old horse with a sigh. Willie turned his head, rubbing his lip over Shiro’s hip. Shiro laughed quietly, rubbing the star on Willie’s head.

Keith walked into the barn, smiling at Shiro. Shiro managed a smile back, ducking his head moments later. Shiro turned back to Willie. Keith watched for a moment.

“Shiro?”

Shiro looked up. Keith leaned against a stall door, scratching Dreamer’s head idly.

“Yes, Keith?” Shiro asked.

“You want to ride Willie?”

Shiro blinked. He stared at him, then looked at Willie like he expected the horse to show him an answer. Willie just snorted.

“What?” Shiro asked.

Keith smiled slightly, just a twitch of the corner of his mouth. “Ride him. Saddle him up, get on his back.”

Shiro looked down at his worn boots. “Am…is that allowed?”

Keith looked shocked for a moment, but quickly hid the expression on his face before Shiro looked back up.

Keith took a step closer, then another. “Of course it’s allowed, Shiro. That’s what all that paperwork I had you sign when you started here was about. If you want to, it’s perfectly fine.”

“Will…is anyone else going to be there?”

“No,” Keith said. “We have a smaller arena in the back of the show barn, not the main arena. It’ll just be me, you, and old Willie here.”

Shiro looked at his metal hand on Willie’s back, shoulders tense. Did he deserve to ride? To take Keith’s valuable time more than he already did?

Keith watched him, and took another step closer. “There’s no one else here today. Only if you want to, Shiro, I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Shiro clenched his metal hand into a fist. “I want to but…”

“You don’t feel like you’re worthy?” Keith asked softly. Shiro looked at him sharply. Keith smiled slightly. “It’s okay, Shiro. I like teaching people to ride, and you’ve been doing so well with Willie I thought you might want to take the next step.”

Shiro ran his fingers over his own thigh. Finally he nodded, not looking Keith in the eye. Keith smiled and walked by him to the tack room. Shiro shuffled after him, not looking up from his boots.

Keith looked at the saddles. He glanced back at Shiro. “You have knee problems, right?”

Shiro nodded, self-consciously rubbing at his right knee. His metal fingers couldn’t feel the scars under his pants.

“Okay, dressage saddle then,” Keith said, lifting a shockingly small black saddle. Shiro blinked.

“That’s awfully small,” Shiro said.

Keith smiled. “English saddle, dressage technically. It allows for a longer stirrup set, less bend to your knees.”

Shiro nodded, still staring at the saddle doubtfully. Keith grabbed a saddle pad and girth, and after a moment’s thought a breast collar. He carried it all back to the breezeway, Shiro behind him.

Keith set the saddle on a saddle rack by the bench. “Okay, so when we’re going to ride, it’s important to brush where the saddle goes really well. The last thing you want is mud or other junk up under the saddle or girth making a sore.”

He ran his hand over Willie’s back and behind his front legs. “Of course, you brush so thoroughly that we don’t have to worry about it.”

Shiro watched quietly as Keith took the saddle bad and set it high on Willie’s withers, then the saddle over it. It slid back a little, but Keith seemed to want that. “Never tug the saddle pad back up, it’ll make his hair lay the wrong way.”

Shiro nodded, listening intently. Keith took the girth and put the saddle billets through it. Shiro watched as he buckled it on one side, then as he walked around to the other side of Willie. He saw Keith’s hand reach under the horse and grab the girth, pulling it tight under Willie.

Keith walked back to join Shiro, sliding the breast collar over Willie’s head and buckling it to the saddle and the girth. Keith turned to look up at Shiro.

Keith was suddenly struck by just how tall Shiro was in comparison to him. Shiro looked uncomfortable, eyes darting everywhere but Keith’s face.

“What size hat do you wear?” Keith asked. Shiro looked at him, confused. That was not what he had been expecting.

“Um, a large, or extra large.”

Keith nodded. “Be right back.” He disappeared back to the tack room and reappeared moments later with a shiny black helmet in hand. He pressed it into Shiro’s hands.

“All riders have to wear a helmet. Well, I mean, you’re an adult so we really can’t make you. We can, all the therapy riders are supposed to wear helmets and—”

“You’re babbling,” Shiro said, putting the helmet on.

Keith’s mouth snapped shut. Slowly, he smiled. “I am. Sorry.”

Shiro shrugged, the helmet on his head. 

“May I?” Keith asked, gesturing to the buckles hanging down by Shiro’s cheeks. Shiro nodded, going still as Keith reached up and carefully adjusted the straps, buckling it under Shiro’s chin. 

Shiro swallowed when Keith’s fingers brushed his throat.

“We do recommend all riders wear helmets,” Keith said, coughing and stepping back. “Even falling off at walk or standstill can do irreparable damage or even kill you, depending on how you land.”

Shiro nodded. “Do people resist wearing them?”

Keith shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s not cool, you know? No wind through your hair as you gallop into the sunset, no dramatic flowing locks.”

Shiro snorted. Keith grinned at him. “Our young riders don’t have a choice. If you’re under eighteen you wear a helmet while riding on Voltron premises, or at any event we go to. We do recommend adults do it, but we really can’t force them. I always wear one.”

He clipped a leadline to Willie’s halter and undid the crossties. “C’mon,” he said, leading Willie and Shiro out of the therapy barn and to the show barn. They went through the big arena to a smaller one at the far end. 

There was a mounting block, what looked like a ramp, cones and long poles on the ground. Keith led Willie to the mounting block, squaring him up before it. He checked the girth, aware of Shiro’s rapid breathing next to him.

Keith dropped the stirrups on the saddle. Shiro looked at them.

“Why do those have rubber bands on them?” he asked. Keith glanced at him

“They’re called peacock stirrups. The rubber bands pop off if the rider falls, so they don’t dragged.”

Shiro stared at him with wide eyes. “Dragged?”

Keith looked up at him. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m going to be in control of Willie today. We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do, okay?”

Shiro nodded, staring back at the saddle.

Keith gently touched his shoulder. “Hey, deep breath, Shiro. You okay, you with me?”

Shiro took a deep breath and swallowed. He nodded again, reaching out to touch Willie’s neck. Keith gave him a moment to get back under control.

Finally, Shiro looked up. He nodded again. Keith led him around to the mounting block. Shiro climbed the three small steps. He stared down at the top of the saddle. 

“Grab a handful of Willie’s mane,” Keith said, “and swing your right leg over his back.”

Shiro’s left hand grabbed a chunk of Willie’s mane. He took a deep breath, staring at the dark strands tangled with his fingers. He swung his leg over Willie’s back, landing in the saddle with a grunt.

He looked down and closed his eyes tightly.

Shit, Willie didn’t seem this tall from the ground.

He was half hunched over Willie’s neck, clinging to his mane. His eyes were shut and he looked somewhere between terrified and miserable. Keith felt a moment of unease, wondering if this had been a bad idea.

“Deep breath, Shiro, I’ve got Willie. He’s not going anywhere.”

Shiro opened one eye. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, and he let out a startled yelp when Willie shifted under him, clinging to the horse in terror.

“Shiro, I’m going to touch your leg,” Keith said firmly, looking up at him. Shiro jolted when he felt a gentle hand on his thigh. He looked down at Keith.

Keith looked up at him. Shiro looked like a horse on the verge of bolting. His eyes were wide, nostrils flaring, he could see Shiro’s pulse jumping in his throat.

“So, horses are like mirrors, Shiro. They reflect our emotions back to us. If we’re calm, they’re calm, if we’re scared, they’re scared. I need you to take a deep breath, Shiro. In, and out. Just like that, again. In, and out. Good. Keep breathing.”

Shiro swallowed, following Keith’s breathing instructions. Their eyes stayed locked, and Shiro felt uncomfortable. He hadn’t had that much direct eye contact with someone since before…

“You know why we mount on the left side of horses?”

Shiro stared at him. He shook his head slightly.

“It comes from when we rode with swords. Most people wear swords on the left hip, because most people are right handed, right?”

Shiro nodded, clenching his right hand against Willie’s neck. A whine escaped his throat when Willie’s weight shifted again.

“So, if you had a sword and you tried to get on the horse from the other side, the sword would get in the damn way and make it really difficult to mount.”

Keith kept his hand on Shiro’s leg. He could feel thick scars under the fabric of his jeans. He wondered again at what had happened to Shiro.

“Sit up straight, not so hunched over,” Keith said softly. Shiro latched onto his voice, using it as a lifeline. He let out a breath and slowly sat up, still clinging to Willie’s mane.

“Here,” Keith said, touching a rolled strap attached to the front of the saddle with his other hand. “Hold onto this. It’s your ‘oh shit’ strap.”

Shiro’s eyebrows shot up. He swallowed, finally managing to wet his throat. “Is that what you tell your students it’s called?”

Keith smiled, glad Shiro was able to talk. “Oh, hell no. Allura would kill me if I cursed in front of the kids. But to the kids it’s just a grab strap.”

Shiro wrapped his fingers around the strap, breathing deeply. Keith gently directed Shiro’s feet into the stirrups. His boots were far too wide for them, and they didn’t have a heel, but Keith knew Shiro couldn’t afford anything else.

“Don’t sit completely on your ass, but on your seat bones,” Keith said, hand back on Shiro’s thigh. Shiro rolled his hips slightly, coming into alignment.

“Good,” Keith said. “There should be a straight line from your head, down your shoulders to your hips, and from your hips to your heels. And heels down, toes up, by the way.”

Shiro did his best to follow Keith’s directions, feeling a little overwhelmed.

“Don’t be afraid to talk to Willie, to pet him. He’s still Willie, the same horse you’ve been brushing and walking for the past few months.”

Shiro swallowed, and carefully let go of the strap with his left hand and rubbed Willie’s neck. Willie sighed, dropping his head. 

“See how he relaxed when you did?” Keith asked, looking up at him. Shiro nodded, hand rubbing circles on Willie’s neck.

“Horses are prey animals, right?” Keith asked, falling slightly into lecture mode. He noticed that Shiro seemed to relax the longer he talked, so he’d keep talking. Shiro nodded.

“And humans are—”

“Predators,” Shiro said without hesitation. His face shut down slightly, dark terrors sliding across his eyes. Keith looked up at him, gently rubbing his thigh. Shiro blinked, seeming to pull himself out of that dark place.

“Yes,” Keith said quietly. He took a moment. “And it’s a partnership between predator and prey for horse and rider. The horse is letting the top predator in the world on his back. So, if you’re scared, the horse feels that. The horse doesn’t know that you’re scared of him, all he knows is, ‘holy fuck, the predator on my back is afraid of something! That means I need to be even more scared because that means something is going to eat me!’”

Shiro stared down at him, a slightly bewildered expression on his face. Slowly, a smile broke across his face. Keith smiled back. Shiro took another deep breath, sitting deeper in the saddle.

“Do you want to try walking?” Keith asked, still looking up at him. Shiro took a deep breath again. 

“Okay,” he said quietly, voice small.

Keith smiled at him and turned around, hand falling from Shiro’s thigh. He gathered Willie’s leadrope in his hands, glancing back at Shiro. Shiro clung to the ‘oh shit’ strap, gasping when Willie followed Keith at a leisurely walk around the small arena.

Shiro found himself leaning forward again, his breath coming faster.

“Sit back, Shiro, you’re doing great,” Keith said quietly, walking slowly. Willie happily walked along next to him, ears flicking back to Shiro occasionally.

“It’s important to look where you’re going,” Keith said as they walked. “If you look at the ground, you’re looking for a place to land, and if you’re looking at the horse, he’s already there.”

Shiro nodded, looking forward and sitting back a bit. Keith smiled.

Keith kept talking about nothing as he led Willie circles around the small arena, and slowly Shiro relaxed. His hips moved with Willie’s steps, and he found himself able to look around. Keith’s voice ran over him, soothing him and keeping him calm.

Keith looked back at him, smiling slightly. He reversed and started walking in the other direction. Shiro swayed with Willie, loosening his grip with one hand. He patted Willie’s neck as they walked.

Keith kept walking and talking quietly, gently correcting Shiro’s position from time to time or patting Willie’s neck. Shiro wasn’t sure how long they walked, Keith’s voice a balm to his soul and Willie’s familiar scent keeping him grounded. 

Finally, Keith came to a stop in the center of the arena. Shiro looked down at him, flushing slightly at the soft smile on Keith’s face.

“How was it?” Keith asked.

“I think my butt is numb,” Shiro said. Keith threw his head back and laughed.

“Yeah, that happens, especially when you aren’t used to it.”

Shiro shifted in the saddle. Standing still made him realize just how numb his ass actually was. Keith just smiled.

“Okay, so take your feet out of the stirrups,” Keith said. Shiro tried, but they were caught on his boots. He made a frustrated sound. “Hey, it’s okay.” Keith gently tugged the stirrup off his boot, then walked to Willie’s other side and did the same. He went back to Willie’s left side and stood at his shoulder.

“You ever see old western movies where they throw the dead cowboy over the back of the horse?”

Shiro gave him a confused look. “Yes…” he said slowly. Keith laughed.

“So I want you to be a dead cowboy right now. Hold onto the front of the saddle and swing your right leg over the cantle, the back of the saddle. Then lay across it, your arms on the far side and your legs next to me.”

Shiro took a deep breath, suddenly nervous again. He did what Keith asked, hanging onto the saddle for dear life as he swung his leg over. He pressed his stomach into the saddle, jerking slightly when Keith touched his calf.

“Relax. Let your arms hang down for a moment. Really be that dead cowboy. It feels great on your back.”

Shiro let go of the saddle, letting his arms hang down Willie’s side. He stared at his fingers, realizing that Keith was right; it really did stretch his back out.

“Alright, when you’re ready, grab the saddle again and slide on down.”

Shiro held onto the front and back of the saddle and let himself slide down. He staggered when his feet hit the ground, and Keith managed to grab him and keep from hitting the ground.

“Take a moment,” Keith said, voice close to Shiro’s ear. Shiro flushed, reaching out to grab Willie’s neck. He leaned against the horse, then looked at the saddle.

He’d been up there. He’d actually been on a horse. He looked at Keith, managing a smile.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. Keith smiled back at him.

“You’re quite welcome.”

Keith showed him how to run the stirrups back up. He handed Shiro the leadrope. “Go ahead and take him back to the crossties. I’ll help you unsaddle him and you get to brush him again.”

Shiro nodded and led Willie back through the arena to the therapy barn.

Keith followed him, stopping next to Allura, who had been standing near the small arena. “How long were you watching?”

“Only about ten minutes,” Allura said with a smile. “You do know you’re supposed to have another walker for the therapy patients.”

He half glared at her. “He’s not a normal therapy patient.”

She just gave him that maddening smile.

“He has a good seat when he relaxes.”

Keith nodded. “He does.”

“Reminds me of someone else I know,” she said, smiling at him. He rolled his eyes and took off after Shiro.

Allura grinned as Keith hurried to catch up with Shiro, texting him the pictures she had taken of them. She hummed and went back to her office.

Keith caught up with Shiro as the other man hooked Willie into the crossties. He took Shiro’s helmet from him, setting it on the bench. He couldn’t fight the smile at Shiro’s white forelock sticking to his head, hair fluffing in every which way.

“What?” Shiro asked, looking at him.

“Helmet hair,” Keith said. Shiro flushed and scrubbed his hand through his hair, only making it worse. He finally shrugged. He’d looked worse.

Keith walked him through taking the saddle off. They took everything back to the tack room and Shiro covered the saddle and hung up the breast collar. He stuck his helmet on the helmet rack.

They went back to the breezeway and Shiro picked up his brushes. He started scrubbing the sweat marks from Willie’s back and girth area. Willie sighed, quite happy with the attention.

Keith leaned against the wall, watching them. Shiro finished brushing, giving Willie a cookie and then taking him back to his stall.

He walked slowly back to Keith, staring at his boots again.

“Heading out?” Keith asked.

Shiro nodded.

“Uh…Keith?” Shiro asked.

“Yeah?”

“Can…can we do that again sometime?”

Keith smiled widely. “Of course, Shiro. As many times as you want.”

Shiro smiled, glancing briefly at him. He went back to the tack room and got his bag out of the locker, slinging it over his shoulder. He stopped to give Willie another cookie and waved at Keith again before heading for the bus stop. 

Keith’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out, frowning when he noticed a slide show text from Allura.

He did smile when he opened it and saw pictures of him leading Willie around, Shiro on his back.

He really did have a good seat.

Keith was smiling in the pictures. Shiro was more relaxed than Keith had ever seen him.

He saved the pictures to his phone, smiling slightly.

He hoped Shiro really did want to ride more. He’d talk to Shiro about actually learning to ride, maybe. He liked the idea of being able to ride _with_ Shiro, although he’d be just as happy to keep leading him around.

He went about his chores with a slight smile.

Shiro was back the next day, quietly waiting for Keith to get done with his lessons so he could help Shiro ride.

And he rode the day after that, and the day after that.

Allura watched, and she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are love! Please tell me what you think!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro rides again, and is invited to Thanksgiving dinner with Keith and his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter. Longest one yet. Thank you for all the great comments, and I hope you all keep enjoying this story.
> 
> not beta-ed

Shiro walked up the driveway of Voltron, achy and tired. The shelter was getting more and more crowded, and Shiro had a harder time sleeping around so many people.

Sleeping on the streets wasn’t an option, not when it was dropping to the twenties at night. He knew that it would only get colder. He had spent many a night simply walking the city, trying to stay warm.

At least it was Thanksgiving this week. One of the casinos did a dinner for the homeless, so it had been nice getting a warm meal, even if it wasn’t actually on Thanksgiving.

He paused, watching as Keith rode a red horse at a high rate of speed around the outdoor arena. He realized he’d never seen Keith ride before. He had seen him unsaddle Gator, but he’d never actually seen him on a horse.

Keith stuck to the back of the horse like he was part of it. Shiro dropped his bag, leaning against the fence and watching.

Shiro flushed slightly. Keith was beautiful.

Shiro turned his head, looking away. He hadn’t thought that about someone in a long time.

He turned back, unable to look away for long as Keith and the horse galloped around the arena. The horse was a deep red with lighter mane and tail. Shiro thought it was the red stallion from the show barn.

Shiro noted that Keith rode this horse in a western saddle. He watched as Keith moved with the horse, seat light and hands steady. Suddenly, the horse dropped his head and kicked his back legs out, front legs going a completely different direction.

Shiro gripped the rail, gasping as the horse launched himself in the air again.

Keith laughed, twisting with the horse and spurring him into a run. “You’ll have to do better than that to get me off, Braze!” he yelled, grinning. The horse gave up bucking, dropping to a slow canter, then a trot. Keith circled him a few times before bringing him down to a walk.

He patted the horse’s neck, guiding him to Shiro.

“Hey,” Keith said, grinning down at Shiro. Shiro looked tired. Keith had noticed he’d been losing weight recently, and he always had dark circles under his eyes. Shiro deflected him every time he tried to ask about it.

“Hey. That was impressive,” Shiro said, nodding towards the horse.

Keith smiled, patting the horse’s neck. “Braze can be a little shit sometimes, but he’s fun to ride. The stallions are my favorite to ride.”

Shiro flushed slightly; there were a couple of different ways he could take that sentence. He scrubbed at his face, glancing up to see Keith watching at him with worry in his eyes. Shiro managed to plaster a smile on his face.

Keith leaned forward, resting his elbows on the horn of the saddle. Shiro looked exhausted.

“I didn’t think you rode western,” Shiro said after a moment.

Keith smiled wryly. “We start everyone in English because if you can ride in an English saddle you can ride anything. For the younger horses or training, we ride western. Or stallions who like to test the riders. We occasionally show western.”

Shiro nodded, rubbing Braze’s head.

“You want to ride today?” Keith asked.

Shiro nodded. “I wasn’t sure you’d have time though.”

“Nah, it’s thanksgiving. No lessons this week so the kids can be with their families.”

Shiro nodded again, looking down as Braze nibbled on his watch.

“Let me cool this guy down and we’ll get you on Willie. You can go ahead and go get him out and start brushing him if you want.”

Shiro dropped his hand. “Okay. I’ll do that.” He picked up his bag and started towards the therapy barn, feet dragging slightly.

Keith frowned, rubbing Braze’s head. “Let’s walk, Braze,” he said, turning the horse back to the arena.

The stallion sighed, dropping his head as they walked. Keith stared into nothing, mind stuck on Shiro.

He hoped the other man was okay.

:::

Shiro shoved his bag into his locker and grabbed Willie’s halter. He slipped into Willie’s stall, haltering the horse far easier than he had months ago. He led Willie from the stall and hooked him into the crossties.

He patted Willie’s butt and headed back to grab the grooming kit. He grabbed the rubber curry and started rubbing slow circles on Willie’s body. He sighed, leaning against the horse.

Willie sighed, relaxing as Shiro brushed him. Shiro made sure to scrub the girth area, then went to grab the body brush. He swept the dust and dead hair off the horse, keeping his flesh and blood hand on Willie to ground himself.

He put the brushes down and walked to the tack room, grabbing his saddle and pad. He went back to Willie, setting the pad on the horse’s back. He followed it with the saddle, and then cinched the girth tight.

He sat on the bench, doing some light stretches and massaging his knee. He looked up as Keith walked in, hair plastered to his head by sweat.

“Let me grab a water bottle and we’ll head to the small arena,” Keith said. Shiro nodded, watching as Keith disappeared into the tack room.

Keith grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge and paused, staring at the lunge line. After a moment’s thought, he grabbed that and Shiro’s helmet.

Shiro took the helmet from him and put it on, buckling it under his chin. He grabbed Willie’s leadrope and unclipped him from the crossties. He led the horse out of the therapy barn and into the show barn. They walked through the big arena to the small one used for therapy patients.

Keith watched as Shiro checked the girth and ran his stirrups down. Keith took the leadrope and led Willie over to the mounting block. Shiro took a deep breath and got on.

The first few moments were always the worst. It took him some time to calm down.

Keith waited patiently while Shiro sat on Willie’s back, taking deep breaths and slowly relaxing. Finally, Shiro nodded at him. Keith smiled up at him and they started to walk.

Shiro concentrated on his breathing, right hand gripping his ‘oh shit’ strap and his left on Willie’s neck. Keith glanced back at him, noting that Shiro did seem more relaxed.

“I’ve been thinking,” Keith said, turning around and leading them the other way.

“Yeah?” Shiro asked, looking down at him.

“How would you like to learn how to really ride? Not just me giving you pony rides like this?”

Shiro blinked down at him, grey eyes wide with shock. Keith brought them to a halt. Shiro looked at his hands.

Was Keith tired of leading him around? Was Keith tired of _him_?

“Hey,” Keith said softly. He could see the half panicked expression on Shiro’s face. Keith put his hand on Shiro’s knee. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I thought you might like to learn to control the horse on your own.”

“You…you’re not tired of doing this with me?” Shiro asked.

“God, no!” Keith said firmly. “I want to be able to ride with you, if you want.”

Shiro looked at his hands, how the metal of his right hand contrasted with Willie’s fur, how his left hand was cold. 

It was an indoor arena, but it wasn’t kept particularly warm. At least it was out of the wind.

“I want to do this, Shiro,” Keith said. Shiro finally nodded.

“Okay. How do we start?”

Keith pulled out the lunge line and attached it to Willie’s halter. “I’ll stand in the middle and Willie will go in circles around me. I’ll be in complete control the entire time.”

Shiro nodded, hanging onto the strap. He felt a moment of panic when Keith stepped back. Willie kept one ear trained on Keith.

“He’s just going to walk, Shiro,” Keith said, gently asking Willie to move forward. Shiro gasped, clinging to the strap. “Deep breath. It’s just like when I’m right next to you.”

Shiro nodded, his eyes locked on Willie’s neck.

“Eyes up, remember?” Keith said. Shiro lifted his head, looking around the circle as Willie walked.

“Okay, when you’re comfortable, if you’re comfortable, can you let go with one hand?” Keith asked, eyes locked on Shiro.

Shiro took a shuddering breath and let go with his left hand.

“Good,” Keith said. “Now, take that arm and draw big circles in the air, like you’re doing a backstroke.”

Shiro glanced at him, then slowly drew his arm in a big circle. It shifted his balance, and he gasped, grabbing the strap again.

“You’re fine,” Keith said. “This helps teach your body the balance you need when you start steering, and how to multitask on the horse. Your hands need to do one thing while your body does another.”

Shiro nodded, taking a deep breath and starting the arm circles again. He stretched his arm back, enjoying the slight burn in his muscles.

Keith watched him, smiling slightly. He wasn’t sure about what he was about to ask.

“Do you think you’re comfortable enough to do it with your right arm?” Keith asked softly.

Shiro went rigid on Willie’s back, swaying alarmingly in the saddle. Keith brought Willie to a halt, waiting.

Shiro drew his metal arm close to his body, not looking at Keith. Keith drew the lunge line in, bringing Willie close to him.

“I know it’s scary, Shiro, but I know you can do it. I’ve seen what you can do, and I know that this won’t be any worse than lifting stall mats or helping me move hay. It is part of you, Shiro, and I’m going to be right here the entire time.”

That was part of the problem, Shiro thought. He was afraid of making a fool out of himself.

“Why don’t we try it standing still first?” Keith asked, resting his hand on Willie’s neck.

Shiro held on with his left hand and slowly let go with his right. He closed his eyes, drawing the right arm back in a slow circle. It felt different, heavier. It was a part of him but separate. His balance was definitely different with this arm up.

Slowly, he grew more comfortable as he drew circles with his arm. He could feel his shoulder burning, phantom pain lancing down his arm to his fingers. He kept his face placid; he was an expert at not showing any pain.

He’d had to be.

Keith nodded. “Good. The next thing we have our beginning students do to warm up is toe touches. This helps you learn that when you reach down to adjust a stirrup or something, you can stay in the saddle. We’ll do all of this standing still first, okay?”

Shiro nodded. He clung to the grab strap and leaned down, running his hand down his leg towards his toes.

“It’s fine if you can’t reach yet,” Keith said. Shiro nodded, biting his lip as the fingers of left hand brushed his toes.

“Sit up straight, then reach with your right hand.”

Shiro clenched his right fist, then reached for his toes. His right side felt heavy, but he felt a moment of triumph when he managed it.

“Good,” Keith said again, smiling slightly. He saw the flash of triumph in Shiro’s eyes. He wanted to see it again.

“Next is cross over toe touches,” Keith said. “Reach with your left hand to your right foot, and your right to left. I don’t expect you to touch your toes on this one.”

Shiro nodded. He decided to start with his right arm, running it down Willie’s shoulder as he reached for his toes. He found he couldn’t reach them and frowned, reaching just a bit harder.

“Don’t overreach,” Keith said quietly, “only go as far as you’re comfortable.”

Shiro reached with his left hand. It was a little easier, but he still didn’t feel entirely secure.

“Okay, the last warm up we do is called posting at the walk. So with this one, stand up in the stirrups, gripping lightly with your knees. Don’t panic grip, and you only need to lift your butt out of the saddle a couple of inches.”

Shiro nodded, glad to hold on to the strap with both hands again. He lifted his ass out of the saddle, and tried to lower himself gently. He wasn’t entirely successful. 

“This one’s actually easier when the horse is moving. Ready to walk again?” Keith asked.

Shiro nodded, holding on tightly as Keith stepped back and asked Willie to walk again. He relaxed into the movement of the horse.

“Alright, try arm circles again,” Keith said, “nice and slow. Good.”

Shiro started with his right arm, concentrating on the burn of his muscles as he lifted his cybernetic arm.

“Ten on each side,” Keith said. Shiro nodded, counting in his head and then switching arms.

“Same side toe touches,” Keith said.

“Ten?” Shiro asked, reaching down. He let out a gasp. Doing this at a walk was different than standing still. He didn’t feel quite as secure. He felt like he was going to go face first over Willie’s shoulder into the ground.

“Yeah,” Keith said, “don’t go farther than you’re comfortable with.”

Shiro found he could only go to the middle of his shins without feeling like he was going to topple out of the saddle. Shiro kept count, sitting up straight between each touch.

“I’m going to turn Willie around. Hold on with both hands,” Keith said. Shiro did, moving with Willie as Keith brought him in and then sent him out the other way. “Go ahead and do cross overs.”

Shiro took a deep breath and reach for his left foot with his right hand. He could just reach past his knees. He counted silently, concentrating on not shifting his weight.

“Nice. Post at the walk,” Keith said. Shiro held onto the strap and slowly lifted his butt out of the saddle. His legs burned in ways they hadn’t when he’d ridden before.

After a few minutes, Keith could see a bead of sweat run down Shiro’s neck. Keith pulled Willie into him, patting his neck and looking up at Shiro.

“Really nice job,” Keith said. “How was it?”

Shiro rubbed Willie’s neck. “It was…more difficult than I thought it would be.”

“But you did it,” Keith said quietly. “You didn’t quit, and you kept going. I’m proud of you.”

Shiro flushed, looking at his hands. He was actually proud of himself, which was a feeling he’d hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Alright, go ahead and do dead cowboy and come on down,” Keith said. He helped Shiro’s feet out of the stirrups. With a groan, Shiro swung his leg over the back of the saddle and stretched out across it. He slid down to the ground, staggering slightly. 

Keith gave Shiro a moment. Shiro shook his legs, trying to get feeling back in them. He ran his stirrups up and exchanged the lunge line for the leadrope.

“Go ahead and take him back to the barn and start brushing him,” Keith said. Shiro nodded, walking slowly. His knee twinged slightly, but he did his best to keep from limping.

Keith coiled the lunge line and followed Shiro from the arena.

Shiro clipped Willie back into the crossties, petting him on the nose. He took off his helmet and ruffled his hair. He undid the billets and took the girth off. He carried the saddle to the tack room and covered it, putting the girth sweaty side up on top of it. Shiro set his helmet in the helmet cabinet and walked back to Willie.

Keith smiled at him, watching as Shiro scrubbed the saddle marks from Willie’s back.

“Thanksgiving is tomorrow,” Keith said suddenly. Shiro stilled, staring at the brush in his hand.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Keith said quietly. “Coran and Allura cook enough to feed a small army, and we’d love to have you.”

Shiro was silent, and Keith was afraid he’d overstepped his bounds.

“Really?” Shiro asked.

“Really what?”

“Would you really love to have me join you guys for a family dinner? I’m not the best company on a good day.”

“Yes, I’m quite sure,” Keith said firmly. “Coran has been bugging me to ask you for over a week.”

Shiro leaned against Willie. It wasn’t like he had anything planned for the holiday. The free food was always done the weekend before Thanksgiving.

A real, home cooked meal did sound delicious.

“We eat at three,” Keith said. “You’ll have plenty of time to catch the bus back to the city, but if you miss it I can drive you back again.”

Shiro finally nodded. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’d be happy to join you. Thank you.”

Keith smiled, patting Shiro lightly on the shoulder. Shiro finished brushing Willie, nervous about the following day.

“Let’s get his blanket on and then you can put him back.”

Keith showed him where the blankets were hung outside the stalls, and Shiro carried Willie’s blanket back to him. He followed Keith’s instructions and put the blanket over Willie’s back, fastening the front straps and then the belly band.

Shiro led Willie back to his stall, giving him a cookie and turning him loose. He went back to the tack room and grabbed his bag.

He stood before Keith, staring at his toes. It was getting dark earlier, and he wanted (he didn’t really want to) he needed to head back to the city.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” Keith asked.

Shiro nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned, walking slowly towards the driveway. Keith watched him, and hoped he hadn’t scared him away.

:::

Shiro got off the bus and shuffled towards the shelter. He was exhausted. He paused at the door.

Ezor nodded at him. “There’s still space,” she said. He nodded. Ezor was the easiest of the front desk people to get along with. Her sister Zethrid and Shiro didn’t get along at all.

“And here, donations came in today,” Ezor said, pushing a gallon Ziploc bag to him. Shiro took it. Two new pairs of socks, a new pair of briefs, a toothbrush, a razor, travel toothpaste and shave cream, shampoo and a bar of soap. There was also a black beanie and a pair of black knit gloves.

“Thanks for saving it for me,” Shiro said, shoving the new items in his bag.

Ezor hummed. “Sure thing. Everybody got one.”

Shiro nodded and stepped into the shelter proper. Zehtrid would’ve given him a bag of women’s products just to be an ass. He weaved through the people standing around, not making eye contact with anyone. Eye contact could be considered aggression, and he didn’t feel like dealing with anyone.

He was glad to find the bathroom empty, and he quickly stepped into the shower stall. He wasn’t supposed to technically shower with the arm on, but he sure as shit wasn’t going to take it off here. He pulled a plastic garbage bag out of his bag and covered his cybernetic arm.

He did his best to keep it out of the water as he quickly scrubbed himself. He washed his dirty underwear and socks, thankful for the new ones. The new socks were even wool, a rare treat.

He pulled his faded jeans back on, wishing he could afford a new pair. He tugged his one long sleeved shirt from the bottom of his bag, pulling it on after shaking the water off the bag that had covered his right arm.

He stood in front of the mirror and used his new razor and shaving cream to get the stubble off his face. The new razor was a godsend, sliding easily through the short hairs on his cheeks.

At least he’d look a little cleaned up for thanksgiving dinner with Keith tomorrow. 

He felt a wave of nervousness. He was looking forward to it, and he was leery of looking forward to things. 

It felt like something always went wrong.

He shook the thoughts away and folded everything away in the plastic bags. He brushed his teeth, and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked exhausted; dark circles beneath his eyes, face weary. He put his watch back on and grabbed his bag, all of his worldly possessions. 

Shiro slipped back into the main hall and started looking for a cot. It was early evening, but considering he hadn’t slept the night before he was ready to sleep.

He found a cot in the corner and sat on it. He took out the bag of goldfish crackers and munched on some, taking the edge of hunger away. He tucked the half empty bag into his bag, pulled his wool blanket out and covered himself.

He fell into an exhausted sleep almost immediately.

:::

The next afternoon Keith looked up from turning horses out as the bus stopped. He watched as Shiro got out, hiking his bag over his shoulder as the bus pulls away.

He walked down the driveway, stopping to pet the horses in the pasture that had rushed over to greet him.

Keith smiled, waving at him. Shiro waved back, stopping next to Keith. Keith noted that the circles under his eyes didn’t look quite so deep or dark today, and he hoped that meant that Shiro had gotten some sleep.

“C’mon,” Keith said. “Coran and Allura are excited that you’re coming.”

Keith led Shiro to the big house.

“He’s here,” Keith called, shutting the door behind them. Shiro set his bag under a coffee table, and then followed Keith through the house.

“Shiro! We’re so glad you could be here,” Allura said, kissing him on the cheek. Shiro looked utterly shocked, and Keith managed to hide his smile.

Allura always did what she wanted.

“Turkey will be ready in about two hours,” Coran said, looking up and smiling at Shiro. 

“Here, try these deviled eggs,” Allura said, pushing a plate into Shiro’s hands. Shiro sat at the table, cradling the plate carefully. Keith snagged one of the eggs off the plate, popping it in his mouth.

“Keith made them,” Allura said, moving with Coran in the kitchen. Keith flushed at Allura’s words.

Shiro took a bite, smiling. “They’re good.”

“Thanks,” Keith said, giving Allura a dirty look.

“It’s his one contribution every year,” Allura said with a grin.

“I bought the ice cream too,” Keith said, sitting next to Shiro and grabbing another egg.

“While Coran and I have been slaving in the kitchen all day, you’ve been staying well away.”

“Whatever, princess,” Keith said, throwing a paper turkey at her.

“Stay over there, street rat,” Allura said with a laugh. Shiro looked shocked.

“Ignore them,” Coran said. “When I adopted Keith, Allura was on an _Aladdin_ kick. They’ve been calling each other that for years.”

Shiro nodded slowly, eating another egg so he didn’t have to talk. 

“Sorry about that,” Allura said with an easy smile at Shiro. “Keith and I are siblings. We fight like siblings, but we do love each other at the end of the day.”

Shiro nodded, putting away another egg.

“You want something to drink?” Keith asked, standing up. “We got beer, soda, tea, apple cider, alcoholic apple cider…uh…”

“Regular apple cider please,” Shiro said. “I don’t drink,” he added after a moment.

Keith nodded. He was sure there was a story there, but he would wait until Shiro was comfortable enough to talk about it. He poured Shiro a glass of apple cider and set it next to him. Shiro thanked him and took a sip. 

He shuddered slightly. Damn, that was sweet. He hadn’t had something that sweet in a long time.

He half listened as the other three carried on a conversation, letting their words wash over him. He found himself dozing slightly, warm for once.

Keith gently took Shiro’s glass from his hand and set it back on the table. He tapped Shiro’s wrist and pulled him to the couch. 

“Sit here,” Keith said, gently directing Shiro to sit. Shiro sat on the couch, sinking into the comfortable couch.

Shiro dozed off almost instantly. Allura walked by, handing Keith a throw blanket to put over him.

The other three talked quietly, finishing the final preps for their dinner.

Keith kept glancing over at Shiro, sipping his own drink.

“We could offer him a place here,” Allura said quietly to Keith. Keith glanced at her.

“I want to, but I bet you he’d say no. He doesn’t like being in debt to people, and he’s already worried he takes up too much of my time,” Keith whispered back.

Allura put her hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Sounds like someone I knew, an unruly teenager who didn’t want Coran to do anything for him.”

Keith rolled his eyes at her. “I’ll ask, but I doubt he’ll agree to it.”

They went back to setting the table while Coran checked the turkey.

Shiro shifted restlessly on the couch, whining quietly. Allura looked up at him.

“Keith,” she said softly, nodding her head towards Shiro.

Keith nodded, walking over to the couch and kneeling next to it. “Shiro. Shiro, wake up.”

Keith was careful not to touch him, remembering when Shiro had accidently thrown him to the ground.

“Shiro,” he said a little louder.

Still nothing. He could see Shiro’s eyes twitching under his eyelids, soft cries coming from him. He was definitely trapped in some nightmare.

Maybe…

“Takashi,” Keith said firmly.

Shiro’s eyes snapped opened. He stared at Keith, breathing hard.

“Hey,” Keith said quietly. “You’re here, with us. Deep breath.”

Shiro sat up, cradling his head in his hands. He definitely hadn’t been getting enough sleep lately. His hands shook slightly.

“Sorry,” Shiro muttered.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Keith said. “Dinner is ready, though. You want to take a moment and clear your head first?”

Shiro looked at him, then nodded. 

“Bathroom is second door on the left in that hallway,” Keith said. Shiro stood up and walked to the bathroom.

He splashed his face with water, then stared into the sink. He couldn’t shake the nightmare; the pain, the stench, the utter hopelessness.

“It’s over, Shiro. You’re safe here,” he whispered to himself. He dried his face in a towel and walked slowly back to the dining room. He felt slightly sick, ashamed that they had seen him like that.

They didn’t mention it; they just smiled at him and directed him to his chair. He sipped his apple cider and watched as they loaded their plates. Keith handed him a full plate with a soft smile.

Shiro took it, eyes dropping in shame. Keith just smiled at him and made his own plate.

Shiro waited until everyone had their plates. He watched as they started eating, and he took a small bite.

He closed his eyes. It was delicious, far better than the mass produced stuff the casino served. Not that he was picky, but it was nice to have something home cooked.

“This is very good, sir,” he said to Coran.

Coran beamed at him. “Thank you! And please, call me Coran.”

Shiro nodded, and went back to his meal. He ate steadily, half listening as the others talked. He was glad that they didn’t require him to participate in the conversation. 

He finished his plate and reached for another roll. He buttered it, eating it quickly.

“Feel free to have more,” Allura said with a smile. 

Shiro managed a smile, filling his plate again. He ate slower this time, but cleared his plate again.

Keith was glad to see Shiro eating. He’d been half afraid that after Shiro had woken up he’d just leave. 

The fact that he stayed loosened the tight knot in his chest that had appeared the moment he’d realized Shiro was having a nightmare.

“Would you like leftovers, my boy?” Coran asked.

“I have no way to keep them cold,” Shiro said quietly. “Thank you, though.”

“We’ll give you some of the non-perishables if you’d like?” Allura said.

Shiro looked at the table. He hated accepting anything without working for it, but he’d finished off his last goldfish crackers that morning.

“I’d like that, thank you,” he said softly.

Allura beamed at him.

He helped Keith clear the table while Coran got the pie ready. Shiro took a slice of apple pie, eating it slowly. It was delicious. 

“Shiro, we’re glad you could join us,” Allura said. Shiro managed a smile.

“Thank you for having me, ma’am. I appreciate it. More than you know,” he finished in a whisper. 

They finished the pie in an easy silence. Shiro took a second piece, savoring each bite.

He sighed, looking down at his empty plate. He had missed family dinners. His parents had died over five years ago, after his fighter had been shot down and he’d been declared MIA.

Shiro hadn’t thought about his parents in a long time. He’d gotten the news of their deaths when he was in Walter Reed. Then he’d spent the next year and half black out drunk ninety percent of the time.

He blinked, surprised to find tears rolling down his cheeks. He made no move to stop them.

“Shiro?” Coran asked kindly. “Are you alright?” 

Shiro sniffed, using a napkin to wipe his eyes. “I miss my parents,” he said suddenly.

The other three went still. They all knew what a big moment it was for Shiro to admit something like that.

Coran moved and sat next to him. “How long as it been since you’ve seen them?”

Shiro crushed the napkin into a ball. “They died,” he whispered. “Five years ago. I was…I wasn’t here.”

He couldn’t tell them where he had been. He tried not to think about it period.

“I never got to say goodbye,” Shiro said. 

Coran lay his hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “Well, we’re glad you could join us, Shiro. You’re welcome anytime, you hear?”

Shiro nodded. Suddenly he just wanted to leave. He needed to be alone.

Keith squeezed his shoulder and went to the kitchen, putting rolls and other snacks in bags for Shiro.

“I’ll give you a ride back, okay?” Keith said quietly.

Shiro nodded and stood up. He took the bag of food and turned to Coran and Allura. He bowed slightly. “Thank you again for having me.”

“You’re very welcome,” Allura said gently. 

“Happy thanksgiving,” Coran said.

“And to you both,” Shiro replied.

He grabbed his bag and followed Keith out the door.

“I can wait for the bus, it’s fine,” Shiro said, looking at his feet.

“The buses are running on a limited schedule today,” Keith said, opening the door to his red truck. “I really don’t mind, Shiro.”

Shiro sighed, getting in the passenger seat. He buckled up, holding his bag in his lap. They drove in a slightly strained silence.

Keith pulled up in front of the shelter, putting the truck in park.

“Shiro?”

“Yeah, Keith?” 

“I want you to know that if you need a place to stay…Voltron Arabians is always open to you. We have extra rooms.”

Shiro gathered his bag in his arms, looking down. “I really appreciate it, Keith. More than you know. But…I can’t. I just…can’t.”

He sounded like he really regretted it. He opened the door and got out of Keith’s truck.

“Goodbye, Keith. I’ll try to come out tomorrow.”

“Bye, Shiro,” Keith said quietly as Shiro shut the door. Keith watched as Shiro walked to the shelter door and vanished inside.

He put the truck in gear and drove off. 

His stomach was in knots thinking about Shiro. He wanted to protect him, pull him from the shelter and give him a home.

But he knew what it felt like. He remembered when Coran had offered him a place to stay he hadn’t trusted it. He had fully expected Coran to throw him back on the streets. Learning to depend on people had been a slow lesson.

He decided to just drive for a while. Coran and Allura would understand.

Shiro’s words ran through his mind.

_”I can’t. I just…can’t.”_

“I know, Shiro,” Keith whispered. 

He drove long into the night, the wind his only companion.

:::

Shiro managed to get one of the last cots, and curled up on it. He held his bag like a stuffed animal, thin blanket over his head.

It was a long time before he fell asleep. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are love


	8. Interlude: Dreamer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith says goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a full chapter. This is for me. This is a goodbye. 
> 
> On Thursday, we had to put my old gelding Dreamer down. It was sudden and violent. He twisted, which is where the horse's gut twist inside him. It's very painful, and almost always fatal.
> 
> This is my goodbye, my way to work through the very sudden grief and depression of losing a horse that has been part of my life for 25 years. This does include a slightly graphic description of his death, and I apologize for that.
> 
> Dreamer's death will be touched on again in the next full chapter. This one doesn't have Shiro in it, but he will learn about Dreamer's death in the next one.

The stall was empty. 

Keith sat across from the empty stall, staring blankly at it.

Yesterday, it hadn’t been empty. Today…

The stall was empty. Dreamer was gone.

Keith felt his eyes burn, but he made no attempt to stop the tears. It would be a long time before he would stop crying.

It would sneak up on him. He knew that. Even years after losing his first horse, some days he still missed her.

That empty stall was a punch in the gut, a twist of the blade in his heart.

It had been sudden.

They had gone to lunch. When they’d left, Dreamer was dozing in the sun, warming himself in the cold December day.

The moment he and Allura had pulled back into the driveway and seen Dreamer struggling in the panel, he had known.

There was no coming back from this. Not for the old gelding.

Keith had leapt from the moving truck, dashing across the barn to Dreamer’s stall. He stood next to Dreamer, legs pressed against the panicked horse’s neck. He whispered softly to him, flinching every time the horse thrashed.

His legs were bloody, his face was skinned, sweat matted his fur.

With shaking fingers, Keith called the vet. Coran and Allura took the panel apart, pulling it away. Dreamer lurched to his feet, shaking and moaning.

Keith managed to get a halter on him. Dreamer staggered around. Keith wasn’t expecting the horse to suddenly collapse next to him, pinning his legs under the thrashing animal.

Coran had pulled Keith out. They had wanted to be close to Dreamer, comfort him while they waited for the vet to arrive, but they couldn’t get close.

Dreamer would fall to the ground, convulsing and screaming, only to stagger to his feet to collapse again.

Keith had read multiple times that the screams of dying horses were one of the worst sounds that could be heard. He had never really heard it before.

It wasn’t that he’d never seen a horse die before. It was part of owning and being around horses. By far the worst part.

But he had never seen one go out as violently as Dreamer.

They waited, and after what felt like an eternity, the vet finally arrived.

It took one look. Dr. Whittaker believed Dreamer had twisted; his guts turning inside him. They all agreed that the only course of action was to put Dreamer out of his misery. It wasn’t fair to try to hold on.

Dreamer was in shock, and Whittaker had a hard time finding the vein to inject the windex blue Fatale into his veins. He got one in, and Dreamer fought it.

Keith had always known Dreamer would fight. He had come into the world hard, and he was bound and determined to leave it hard.

When Dreamer finally crashed to the ground, Whittaker injected him again. Once in the vein of his neck, twice directly into the heart.

Coran held Allura, tears rolling down their faces. Keith held the end of the leadrope, watching as Dreamer’s body jerked.

Reflexes as he died.

Dreamer was gone.

Keith shook hands with Whittaker.

The other horses watched, oddly quiet. Nearly every time Keith had seen a horse euthanized, the other horses would go quiet.

They knew.

Coran kissed Allura’s head and moved aside, pulling out his phone to call a backhoe to come bury him.

Allura stood by Keith, and they embraced. Keith buried his head in her shoulder.

“We should get some mane and tail from him,” Allura whispered. Keith nodded and went to get the scissors and a couple of Ziploc bags. He sighed, running his hand over his face.

He sat on Dreamer’s butt, gently brushing out his tail. Dreamer wouldn’t care. Keith carefully braided some of the tail, snipping it and sliding it into the bag. He repeated the motion with Dreamer’s mane, carefully coiling it in the bag.

They would label it with Dreamer’s name and the date when they went back to the house. It would join the other bags, full of mane and tail, of other horses that had already crossed the rainbow bridge.

Horses they had known.

There were chores to be done. The backhoe wouldn’t be able to make it until the next morning.

They covered Dreamer with blankets, and then staked a tarp down over his body. They didn’t want to risk coyotes thinking he was an easy meal.

He was gone, but they didn’t want to see that.

The rest of the day, Keith moved through a numb haze. Could he have done something if they hadn’t gone to lunch? If he had been here, could they have saved him?

He knew it was fruitless to speculate, to blame himself, but he couldn’t help it. A twist was almost always fatal. Surgery was the only option, and even if Dreamer had been a surgery candidate, he had already been too far gone to save.

He hated this part. He hated losing the horses.

The day went on.

That night, they fed. Keith cried when he passed Dreamer’s empty stall. Gator, who had lived next to Dreamer and been very attached to him, paced her stall for an hour, calling for Dreamer.

She didn’t realize he wasn’t coming back. He would never come back.

There was nothing they could do for her. She would calm down, or she wouldn’t. They couldn’t force it.

He had seen horses mourn before. They missed their friends, their companions.

Keith was glad Shiro hadn’t been there that day. He wouldn’t want Shiro to see that, not yet.

Keith had cried himself to sleep, knowing that Coran and Allura were doing the same. He held his little wooden hippo close to him, sobbing until he was dry.

The next morning, he was doing okay until he went out to feed, and Dreamer’s empty stall stared back at him.

Gator stared at him with slightly glazed eyes, and he let himself into her stall. He wrapped his arms around her neck and cried silently into her mane. She stood perfectly still, letting him cry, breathing into his face when he pulled back.

And here he was, sitting across from Dreamer’s empty stall. It was always the hardest part. They would move another horse into the stall later today, so it wasn’t empty.

But putting another horse there wouldn’t fill the empty space in Keith’s heart.

Every time one of the horses died, they took a piece of him with them.

It would take time, and Keith couldn’t help but wish that Shiro was there today.

He looked up as Allura sank to the barn floor next to him, holding out her hand. He laced their fingers together, squeezing gently.

Allura’s shoulders shook as she cried.

“He was loved. They should all be so lucky,” she whispered.

Keith nodded. Yes, Dreamer had been old, but it never made it any easier.

Keith rested his head against the barn wall, cold fingers held tight in Allura’s hand.

He stared at that empty stall.

“Goodbye, Dreamer. I’ll miss you.”

  
_Dae Dream Believer, May 1988-December 2017._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this if you made it this far. I promise that the rest of the story won't be like this, but I felt like I needed to address this before I could continue the story.  
> Thank you.
> 
> I feel like asking for your thoughts on this is weird, but I would still like to know what you thought.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro hits rock bottom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Hopefully the length of this chapter makes up for the wait. Thank you for all your thoughts about Dreamer. 
> 
> Some not nice things are said about Shiro in this chapter. The other people at the homeless shelter really don't like him.
> 
> Shiro hits rock bottom in this chapter, but it always planned. The only way to go from here is up, right?

Pain. So much pain. 

Shiro cried out, clutching his right arm to his chest.

Darkness. 

Loneliness.

He sobbed, curling into a ball.

“Shut up!” someone yelled. 

Shiro woke with a yelp as a tin can bounced off his shoulder.

He looked around, breathing hard. He was in the homeless shelter, tangled in his wool blanket, bag stuck between his legs. 

“Stupid fucker,” another person muttered.

Shiro curled up on himself, feeling horrible. Sleep had been increasingly hard to come by as more people filed into the shelter. It was the middle of December, and the nights were bitterly cold. The shelter was full every night.

Some nights, Shiro couldn’t even get in. On those nights, he walked the city just to stay warm, generally collapsing at the library the next morning.

He sat up, shaking hard. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his eyes burned with tears. He grabbed his bag and shoved his blanket into it.

He had to get out of here. He couldn’t be here, with the nasty looks and the dark whispers.

He pulled his thin beanie down over his ears and shouldered his bag.

“Asshole,” someone called after him.

Shiro’s shoulders hunched as he shoved his way out into the bitter cold. He looked up into the grey skies and started walking.

He would walk until his mind was quiet.

:::

Shiro got off the bus and trudged up the driveway to Voltron Arabians. There was a faint buzzing in his head. He wasn’t sleeping well.

He could feel the eyes of the others in the shelter on him, whispers following his every movement. They hated him, called him names, tripped him up, tried to steal his only possessions.

He had spent the days at the library, curled in the corner. Shay never bothered him, and sometimes gave him muffins and cookies from Hunk’s bakery next door.

He had been too exhausted the past two days to even think about coming to Voltron. Today he needed it. He needed to feel Willie’s warm fur, smell the horses.

Listen to Keith.

He paused to scratch at the pasture horses’ heads before walking to the barn. It was quiet.

Shiro shoved his bag in his locker and walked back out to the aisle.

He froze.

A black horse with a white blaze stared at him from Dreamer’s stall. He frowned, stepping closer. He lifted his left hand and rubbed the horse’s forehead.

“Who are you?” he muttered. He thought the horse looked familiar, but it had never been inside this barn.

And where was Dreamer?

He didn’t have much interaction with the other horses, but he had brushed all the therapy horses before. He had liked Dreamer. The horse was stubborn and a little strange. 

“Her name is Giggles,” Keith’s voice came from behind him. Shiro turned, hand still on Giggles’ forehead.

Keith looked tired, nearly as tired as Shiro. 

Shiro’s stomach dropped.

“Dreamer died two days ago,” Keith said quietly, eyes locked on Shiro.

Shiro’s eyes widened and he looked down. “I’m…I’m sorry, Keith.”

Shiro felt awful. He knew it was irrational, but he felt like if he had been there…

“Nothing could’ve changed it, Shiro. He twisted.”

Shiro glanced at him. He had read about colic and twists in his hours at the library. Keith walked forward and rested his elbows on the stall door, scratching Giggles’ neck.

“We put a horse in the empty stall as soon as possible. It’s supposed to make it easier.”

“Does it?” Shiro asked after a moment.

“It will, eventually. This is the worst part about having horses, any animal, really.”

“I can go,” Shiro whispered, even though his stomach twisted at the thought. He needed to be here, but he didn’t want to be a burden when Keith was clearly depressed.

It wasn’t like Shiro was a ball of sunshine on a good day, and today was not a good day.

“No, please. Doing things helps. Eventually, it doesn’t hurt so much.”

Shiro nodded. He looked at his prosthetic hand. He wished he didn’t hurt anymore.

“You want to ride?” Keith asked, looking up at him. Up close, Keith could see that Shiro looked utterly exhausted. He had been worried that Shiro hadn’t been showing up for a few days, and now he just hoped the older man was sleeping.

“If that’s okay,” Shiro said.

“Of course. Go ahead and get Willie out, and I’ll meet you in the arena.”

Shiro nodded and shuffled towards the tack room, giving one last look at Keith. Keith sighed, patting Giggles’ head.

Shiro silently went about brushing and tacking Willie up. He kept looking over at Dreamer’s pen. He wished he had spent more time with the horse. It would eat at him.

It was something for his mind to focus on. Something besides the fact that the other people at the shelter were pressing in on him, driving him to sleepless nights and anxiety ridden nightmares. 

He grabbed his helmet and led Willie across the grounds to the show barn and arena. He waved at Allura, who was on a grey horse in the big arena. She waved back, a sad smile on her face.

He stood in the center of the smaller arena, petting Willie’s head. Willie sighed, rubbing his lips over Shiro’s prosthetic hand.

Shiro liked that about the horses. They weren’t afraid to touch his metal hand. Willie seemed to like the texture of it on his lips. He rested his head against Willie’s neck, breathing deeply.

A faint buzzing started in his head.

Keith walked in, carrying the lunge line. “You check the girth and everything?”

Shiro nodded, checking it again just to make sure. Keith clipped the lunge line to Willie’s halter and led him to the mounting block. Shiro climbed onto it, then took a deep breath and swung onto Willie’s back.

He clung to the grab strap, taking deep, even breaths as he willed his heart to slow down. Keith waited patiently for him, murmuring quietly to Willie. Willie snorted, dropping his head slightly.

Finally, Shiro nodded to Keith and the smaller man smiled back at him. Keith stepped back and sent Willie off at a walk. Shiro swayed with the horse, and after a few minutes started doing his warm ups.

His mind felt fuzzy, and he knew he wasn’t getting nearly enough sleep. He was forgetting to do something, he just knew it. He kept drawing his arm in circles, a frown on his face. He felt lightheaded, and swayed alarmingly when Keith pulled Willie in to go the other direction.

“Whoa, Willie,” Keith said quietly. Willie halted, immediately relaxing. Keith looked up at Shiro, gently touching his knee.

Shiro gasped, curling over Willie’s neck. For a moment he had forgotten where he was. 

“Easy, Shiro,” Keith said. Shiro looked down at him, swallowing hard.

“Sorry,” Shiro muttered.

“It’s fine. How about I just lead you around like before? You’re too tired for this.”

“Is that okay?”

“Totally fine,” Keith said, doing his best to keep the worry out of his voice. “Just hang on and enjoy the ride, okay?”

Shiro nodded, gripping the strap with both hands. His mind drifted as Keith led Willie slowly around the arena. Black thoughts chased each other around his mind.

The buzzing in his head grew louder. He was so tired.

Keith looked up at Shiro. Shiro’s had a thousand yard stare. His grey eyes were locked on nothing. Keith could see his pulse jumping in his throat. He pulled Willie to a stop, softly calling Shiro’s name.

Shiro didn’t respond. 

Keith touched his leg gently. “Shiro,” he said again.

Shiro let out a strangled gasp, jerking in the saddle.

“It’s me,” Keith said. Shiro stared down at him, hand shaking. “Deep breaths, Shiro, good. In, and out, and in, and out.”

Shiro focused on Keith’s voice, letting his calm voice break through the buzzing in his skull.

“Tell me your name,” Keith said, wanting him to focus on something.

Shiro swallowed. “Ta…Takashi Shirogane.”

Keith smiled at him. “Keep breathing. You’re safe here.”

Keith watched as the tight set of Shiro’s shoulders slowly relaxed, his raspy breathing evening out. Keith absentmindedly stroked Shiro’s knee, willing him to relax.

“Can I just brush Willie?” Shiro asked. 

“Of course,” Keith said, taking a step back and holding Willie securely so Shiro could get off. Keith helped him pull the stirrups off his boots. Shiro took a deep breath and wiggled in the saddle slightly. He swung his right leg over the back of the saddle and dropped to the ground.

His legs gave way and he ended up on his ass in the dirt. He blinked, looking vaguely bewildered. Keith knelt next to him.

“Shit, you okay?” Keith asked.

Shiro nodded. “Fine,” he said. He laughed a little. “Oops.” 

Keith smiled. “As long as you’re good.”

Shiro got his feet under him and Keith pulled him to his feet. Shiro leaned against Willie for a moment. Keith handed him the lead rope and Shiro shuffled out of the arena, Willie next to him.

Keith followed him, letting his eyes fall to Shiro’s dirt covered butt. Even in the tattered jeans, Keith had to admit that Shiro had a really nice ass. He paused to talk to Allura, watching Shiro out of the corner of his eye. 

Shiro stripped the saddle off Willie and put it away. He went back to the horse and slowly started to brush him. Willie sighed, turning his head and nosing Shiro’s shoulder.

Shiro leaned against him, brush held loosely in his hand.

“I’m so tired, Willie,” he whispered against the horse’s mane. “I’m so tired.”

He would just close his eyes for a moment. Willie was warm, and quiet, and didn’t stare at Shiro like he was the scum of the earth.

Shiro wasn’t even aware when he slipped down Willie’s neck and ended up on the floor of the barn, half under the horse.

Willie dropped his head, sniffing at Shiro’s legs. He stood completely still, relaxing his hips. His ears drooped sideways and he let out a deep sigh.

Keith found him less than ten minutes later. 

“Shiro!” 

Keith patted Willie’s head and knelt at the horse’s feet. Shiro was breathing deeply, asleep.

Keith rubbed his left shoulder, calling his name. Shiro groaned, slowly coming to.

“Get up slowly,” Keith said, a thread of worry in his voice. “You’ll hit your head on Willie’s stomach if you stand up now.”

Shiro blinked, confused. He rubbed at his face. Had he really fallen asleep on his feet? 

He groaned and got to his hands and knees and backed out from under Willie. He sat back against the wall, blinking tiredly.

Keith sat next to him.

“Everything okay?”

Shiro was silent for a moment. He didn’t want to add to Keith’s problems. “Just haven’t been sleeping. I didn’t realize I was tired enough to fall asleep under the horse.”

“Luckily for you, Willie will stand over you and not move. We think it was his police horse training. You fall off him and he’ll plant his feet around you until you can get up. Any other horse might step on you, even the other therapy horses.”

Shiro nodded. “That’s pretty cool, actually.”

Keith smiled, glancing over at Willie. “It is.”

Shiro covered a yawn and pulled himself to his feet. He picked up the brush and finished brushing Willie. Keith sat on the bench, watching over Shiro to make sure he didn’t face plant again.

Shiro put Willie’s blanket back on and led him back to his stall. He gave Willie a cookie and latched the gate.

Shiro yawned again, trying desperately to stay awake. He checked his watch. If he wanted a cot he should get moving now.

He looked up at Keith. “I should head out. The shelter gets really crowded,” he ended in a whisper.

“Of course,” Keith said quietly, getting to his feet. He lead Shiro to the tack room and Shiro grabbed his bag. Keith pressed a paper bag into his hand.

“Just a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some chips. And a water bottle.”

Shiro looked at the innocuous bag. “Thank you. I appreciate it,” he said quietly.

Keith nodded, relaxing fractionally. He hadn’t been sure Shiro would actually accept the food from him, and he was glad that he had taken it without arguing. Keith had been prepared to hide it in Shiro’s bag, but he hadn’t wanted to seem like he was going through Shiro’s stuff.

He knew how precious those few items in that bag were to Shiro.

Shiro held his food to his chest, giving Keith a tired smile. He shifted his feet, looking down after a moment.

“If ah…If I don’t come out for a few days it’s because I’m sleeping during the day. I still plan on coming out. I just…”

“Thank you for telling me,” Keith said. “I worry when you don’t show up for a few days.”

Shiro’s eyes darted to his, then away quickly. Keith worried about _him_? Keith thought that Shiro’s cheeks were a bit flushed.

“I better go. Thanks, Keith,” Shiro said. He pulled his knit gloves on and carefully tucked his brown paper bag lunch in his bag. Keith waved to him, watching him trudge out into the cold.

Shiro ate his sandwich on the bus, saving the chips for later. He walked into the shelter and managed to get a cot. He pulled his blanket over his head, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

He managed not to wake up screaming that night.

Barely.

:::

Shiro was curled up in his favorite chair in the corner of the library. He breathed deeply, his bag at his feet.

It was almost Christmas, and the weather was getting steadily colder.

He had walked into the library when it opened that morning, and it was nearly closing time.

Shay gently shook his shoulder. “Shiro, sweetheart, we’re closing up.”

Shiro opened his eyes, blinking at the light. “Wha?”

“I have to lock up,” Shay said apologetically. 

Shiro went to get up and stared. A colorful quilt covered his lap. He touched it gently, then carefully folded it up and tried to give it back to Shay.

She smiled, pressing it back into his hands. “It’s for you. Merry Christmas.”

His eyes widened and he looked at the quilt in his hands. He opened his mouth, closed it again. His eyes burned with tears.

Shay touched his shoulder gently. “I hope it keeps you warm.”

“Thank you,” Shiro said roughly, placing it gently in his bag. He felt a bit overwhelmed. People didn’t give him things. 

Shay handed him a small bakery box, and Shiro peeked in it to see that it had muffins and cookies in it. “From Hunk.”

Shiro felt the urge to just curl up and cry. He gave Shay a watery smile. “Thank him for me. And thank you for the quilt.”

She smiled and kissed his cheek. “You’re my favorite library patron.”

“But I don’t even have a card,” he whispered. Shay had offered him one when he first arrived, but he had declined. He couldn’t afford to replace the books after other people from the shelter tore them apart. It had happened in other cities.

“You still come in and read the books.”

Shiro bowed his head, shouldering his bag. “Thank you, Shay. It means a lot.”

She beamed at him, glad he accepted the blanket. She had been concerned that he wouldn’t. She could see how exhausted he was, and she wished he would accept more help.

Shiro tucked the bakery box under his arm as he headed out the door. He waved at Shay and shuffled to a nearby bench. He sat down, pulling his beanie tighter over his ears. He took one of the muffins out and bit into it, sighing.

As always, the muffins were delicious. He ate both and stowed the cookies in his bag. He didn’t want to be seen with the bakery box at the shelter.

His shoulders slumped. He really didn’t want to head back to the shelter. It had grown worse over the past few nights. He was plagued by nightmares, and the stares and muttered whispers of the others kept him constantly on edge.

And that wasn’t a good thing.

With a groan he got to his feet and walked the few blocks back to the shelter. He found a cot and sat down. He could already hear the whispers starting.

He kept the quilt folded in his duffle bag, but pulled his wool blanket out. He made sure his bag was secure against his chest and curled up, pulling the blanket over his head.

He fell into an uneasy sleep, the stilted whispers sounding like bitter wind.

He dreamed of falling from the sky, his fighter jet a fireball around him.

Shiro woke to hands on his body, holding him down. He felt a fist slam into his face.

“Stop screaming, you piece of shit!” another homeless man yelled, punching Shiro again. “We’re trying to sleep here!”

Shiro’s mind went blank, and he was back there; chained to a table, a saw working through his arm, captors laughing at his screams.

He arched, twisting and throwing two of the people holding him down to the floor. His bag had been ripped open, the quilt from Shay torn nearly in two. He hastily shoved everything back in as best he could, trying not to cry.

He felt a hand fist in his hair and force him to the ground. He kicked out, hearing a strangled yell as his foot connected with the person’s shin.

It would be so easy to fight back; to rip and tear and _kill_ the people beating him. He had done it before.

No. No. He couldn’t sink that low again. He wasn’t there anymore. He let out a broken sob, and sagged to the floor.

He let them beat him. He didn’t fight. What was the point? It would be so easy to just close his eyes and slip away.

He wasn’t sure how many people were around him, but he could hear the rest of them whispering and watching.

Sometime later, he heard Zethrid’s voice cut through the noise. He was dropped to the floor, blood dripping slowly from his nose. He was fairly certain he had at least one cracked rib.

“You useless lump,” Zethrid said, grabbing him under the arms and pulling him to his feet. Her eyes danced with mirth as she stared at him.

“We’re going to have to ask you to leave,” she said, lips curling in a smile. She never had liked Shiro.

Shiro stared at her for a moment, head pounding. It was difficult to breathe, but he bent over and grabbed his bag, shoving all of his worldly possessions into it.

“Can I at least make a phone call?” he managed to ask.

Zethrid tipped her head. “And who would want to talk to you? You’re worthless. A drain on society.”

Shiro’s heart sank. 

“We need the space for people who want to better themselves. Get out and don’t come back.”

Shiro picked up his wool blanket, staring blankly at the floor. He turned and walked through the gathered crowd. They parted before him, silent.

No one stood up for him or offered him any sympathy. They didn’t want it to be them.

He stumbled out the door, Zethrid’s eyes on his back. He turned to look at her, and she shut the door in his face.

Shiro sat on the curb to take stock, crying out in pain. He pulled his half ripped duffle bag to him and let out a pained sigh. His cookies were crumbled, the beautiful quilt from Shay was torn nearly in two, but it seemed he had managed to grab everything that was his.

He pulled on all three of his tee shirts over his long sleeved shirt, then pulled his peacoat back on. His hand shook as he put his left hand into his knit glove. He pulled the second glove over the first.

It wasn’t like his right hand got cold.

He moved in a daze. He locked the pain away. He’d had plenty of practice ignoring pain.

He tied up his bag as best he could, making sure nothing would fall out. He mourned the torn quilt from Shay, but it was a distant mourning.

He felt like he was hardly aware of what was going on. He existed, he breathed, but beyond that, nothing.

It was easier.

If he thought about what just happened, he’d just lie down and die. It was better not to think. He was good at that. He was good at going through the motions of life.

No one needed to know how close he was to falling off the precipice and just….stopping.

Zethrid’s words ran through his mind as he wrapped his blanket around his shoulders.

Everything she had said were words he told himself every day. 

He was worthless, and a drain. He thought of Keith, and his shoulders slumped again and his grey eyes burned with tears.

He was a drain on Keith’s time. What had he done for Keith? Nothing. He had done nothing. He was nothing.

He started to walk aimlessly, holding his bag by its remaining strap.

The cold bit at his skin, but it didn’t touch his soul. He figured he was already gone.

As he walked, it started to snow.

:::

He walked for hours. He wasn’t aware that his feet carried him to Voltron Arabians until he heard the soft whicker of one of the pasture horses.

His body was wracked with shivers. He’d lost his wool blanket somewhere along the way. He was wet, heavy snow on shoulders and head. His boots were soaked through.

Shiro stood before the therapy barn. There was a part of him that just wanted to give up, to curl into a ball and let the cold and snow take him away. There was another part of him that kept thinking about Keith. He couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to Keith.

Every breath hurt. His toes were numb, wet. He shuffled into the barn, and the sudden lack of wind was nice. He limped to the tack room, eyes falling on Dreamer’s blanket. It was folded in the corner, waiting for spring to be cleaned. Dreamer certainly didn’t need it anymore. Shiro grabbed it with his right hand and dragged it to Willie’s stall.

“Willie,” he murmured. His right hand unlatched the stall door. He operated in a daze, latching it behind him.

Willie lifted his head, watching the man in his stall with interest. Shiro stumbled to the corner of the stall, sliding down the wall and landing in the shavings. He pulled Dreamer’s blanket around him, burying his head in it. His bag sat just outside Willie’s stall.

Willie snorted, breathing over Shiro’s face. Shiro’s tears felt hot against his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

He pulled Dreamer’s blanket tighter around him, and blackness overtook him like a wave.

:::

Keith stared at the snow covered ground and groaned. He hated feeding in the snow. He hated the snow. He liked the summer; when the high desert was hot and dry. He pulled his snow pants on over his jeans, shoved his feet into his boots, and pulled his jacket and gloves on.

It was still dark, the eastern horizon just barely starting to lighten.

“Cold as fuck out here,” he muttered, pulling his fur covered hat flaps over his ears. It wasn’t snowing anymore, and had cleared out.

He clomped through the snow to the therapy barn. He always started feeding there. He flipped the lights on and looked around.

“Hey guys,” he said, stomping snow off his boots as he walked to the grain bins. The horses started calling for him as he opened it.

He hummed as he started to mix grain, then went still, listening.

It was too quiet. Willie wasn’t making his usual racket. 

Keith’s heart fell. What if Willie was dead, or too weak to stand? He dropped the grain scoop and nearly ran the short distance to Willie’s stall. After the unexpected death of any horse, they were always hyper paranoid about the other horses.

How could he break it to Shiro if Willie was dead?

“Willie!” he cried. “Oof!” He tripped over a bag in front of Willie’s stall. He stared at it. “That’s Shiro’s…”

He looked into the stall. Willie wasn’t dead. He stood over—

“Shiro!” Keith yelled, wrenching the door open and hastily latching it behind him. He made sure Willie knew he was there and dropped to his knees next to Shiro.

“Oh God, please don’t be dead,” Keith whispered. Shiro was wrapped in Dreamer’s blanket, face pale. Keith pulled his glove off with his teeth and pressed his fingers against Shiro’s pulse point.

It thudded steadily under his fingers, and Keith let out a soft sob of relief. He took off his heavy coat and wrapped it over Shiro’s shoulders. His fingers shook as he pulled his phone out of his vest.

He quickly called Coran, fingers touching Shiro’s cheek. He was so cold.

“Coran! I need you in the therapy barn!”

“What happened? Is one of the horses sick?”

“No,” Keith said, willing himself to calm down. “It’s Shiro. He’s in Willie’s stall. I think he walked here in the snow last night.”

“Is he breathing?” Coran asked, all business on the other end of the line.

“Yes, but he’s so cold,” Keith whispered.

“Allura and I will be there momentarily, my boy. Keep him warm.” Coran hung up.

Keith pulled Shiro half into his lap. The light from the barn aisle showed a dark bruise on Shiro’s face, and blood frozen to his upper lip. Keith pulled the wet beanie off Shiro’s head and put his own warm hat on him.

“What happened to you?” Keith whispered, holding the bigger man close. Willie stood in the corner, ears up. He turned his head when the stall door opened and Coran and Allura hurried in.

“Let’s get him to your apartment, Keith. It’s closer than the house,” Coran said. Keith nodded, and together the two men heaved Shiro up between them. Allura tossed Dreamer’s blanket out into the aisle and grabbed Shiro’s bag, following the men the short distance to the foaling barn.

Once, the barn had had twelve stalls and a hay loft. A number of years ago, they had converted most of it to an apartment for Keith. There were only four stalls left; the loft and the rest of the ground level had been carefully made into a two bedroom apartment.

Allura opened the door for the others, closing it behind them. She set Shiro’s bag on the table and followed them as they half carried Shiro to the spare room.

“We need to get him out of these wet clothes,” Coran said.

Keith nodded, shucking his own snow pants so he could move easier. He unbuttoned Shiro’s coat, dismayed at how damp it was.

“Can you grab the largest set of the Voltron sweats we have from the gift shop?” Keith asked Coran. Coran nodded and stood up, moving quickly out the door.

“Should we take him to the hospital?” Allura asked quietly.

Keith stared at Shiro’s face for a moment. “I don’t think he’d appreciate that,” he said finally. “I don’t think he likes hospitals very much.”

Allura nodded. Keith unlaced Shiro’s boots and pulled them off. He yanked Shiro’s socks off, tossing them aside. Allura walked quickly to the bathroom and grabbed a towel, and then to Keith’s bedroom to grab a pair of socks.

Keith thanked her, rubbing Shiro’s feet with the towel. Shiro groaned, shifting slightly. Allura gently used a warm washcloth to wipe the blood from Shiro’s face. 

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice was rough. 

“I’m right here. We gotta get you out of these clothes, okay?”

Shiro mumbled something in response. Keith didn’t think he was entirely coherent. Keith took the socks Allura had grabbed and put them on Shiro’s feet.

Coran came back, holding a sweatshirt and sweatpants in his hands. They were black with the Voltron logo on the front. 

“I’m going to go get the electric blanket and warm up some of the tomato soup from last night,” Allura said. Coran nodded at her, and she quickly walked out of the door.

“How should we do this?” Coran asked, kneeling next to Keith. Keith stared at Shiro for a moment, taking in the three tee shirts over the long sleeved shirt and the tattered jeans.

“He doesn’t even like showing his left arm. I’ve seen it, it’s covered in scars. I can only imagine he doesn’t like showing the rest of his body. He won’t like that we’ve seen him…”

“We can turn the lights off,” Coran said, “and do it by feel.”

Keith nodded. “Good idea.”

Coran stood and turned the lights off. The room was dark enough that they took a moment to let their eyes adjust. Keith could barely make out the shape of Shiro on the twin bed.

Together, Keith and Coran pulled the tee shirts off. Keith paused, gently shaking Shiro. Shiro groaned again, blinking at him in the dark.

“Shiro, we need to get you out of these wet clothes, okay? Coran and I turned the lights off, so we can’t see you. You’re safe here,” Keith said.

Shiro moaned, nodding. Keith was good, and safe.

Keith gently pulled the shirt off Shiro, lifting his arms and tossing it aside. He and Coran wrestled the sweatshirt onto Shiro after they rubbed him with the towel.

Keith could feel thick, ropy scars under his fingers, and he wondered again what had happened to Shiro. Keith smoothed the sweatshirt over Shiro’s back and helped him back against the pillows.

Shiro watched him through glazed eyes, teeth chattering with the cold. 

Keith put his hands on Shiro’s hips. He unbuttoned Shiro’s fly and paused. “Lift your hips for me, Shiro.”

Shiro whimpered, but he did it. In one swift move Keith stripped Shiro of his jeans and briefs, tossing them aside. He grabbed the sweatpants from Coran and got Shiro into them, tapping his hip to get him to lift again.

He could feel more scars covering Shiro’s thighs and legs. An angry knotted scar was above his right knee.

“Gotta say,” Keith muttered, making sure Shiro was covered by touch alone, “this is not how I imagined undressing you.”

Coran arched his eyebrow. Keith smacked him. “You heard nothing.”

Coran nodded, fighting a smile. He patted Keith on the shoulder and stood up as the front door opened. He turned the light on, looking at their handiwork.

Shiro was dressed in the Voltron sweats. He was still shivering. 

Allura walked in, a blanket folded over her arm and a thermos in her hand. “We need him to drink this,” she said, holding the thermos out to Coran. Coran took it, and Allura and Keith helped Shiro sit up.

Allura plugged the electric blanket in and wrapped it around Shiro’s shoulders. Keith took the thermos and opened it, sitting next to Shiro.

“Shiro, you need to drink this, okay?”

“Tired,” Shiro whispered.

“I know. Drink this, and then you can sleep.”

“No!” Shiro half yelled, panicked. “They’ll come for me when I sleep! Hold me down, beat me, kill me, please!”

Keith set the thermos down and grabbed Shiro’s face gently.

“You are safe here. We—I won’t let anyone touch you. You are safe, Takashi Shirogane. I swear it.”

Shiro seemed to half stare through him, not entirely recognizing him. Coran and Allura stood still, not wanting to draw Shiro’s attention away from Keith.

“Keith?” Shiro whispered, seeming to recognize him for a moment.

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re safe with me, us. You’re safe. No one knows you’re here. Whoever did this to you won’t find you here.”

Shiro swallowed, grey eyes wide. He nodded minutely and Keith relaxed, sitting back. Keith took the thermos again and held it to Shiro’s lips. Shiro took a sip, shuddering as the warmth spread through him.

Allura took Coran’s hand and led him out of the spare bedroom, closing the door behind them. Coran grabbed Shiro’s clothes before they left the room.

She looked at Shiro’s bag on Keith’s small table. She picked up the edge of the quilt that was falling out of it, gently pulling it from the bag. It was nearly torn in two. 

“I can fix this,” she said quietly. She pulled both halves to her. Coran sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

“That poor man,” Coran said quietly. He put Shiro’s clothes in a bag. He’d take them to the house and wash them. 

“It looks like someone punched him in the face,” Allura said. 

“We should leave Keith to take care of him. Shiro will be more comfortable with just him,” Coran said. Allura nodded.

“I’ll run this stuff to the house and then I’ll help you feed,” she said, taking the bag of clothes from him and gathering the quilt. She hurried out the door to the house.

Coran walked out after leaving Keith a note saying that they would take care of the horses that day and that Keith should concentrate on Shiro.

In the bedroom, Keith set the empty thermos aside and helped Shiro lay down. He wrapped Shiro in the electric blanket, settling him in the bed.

“Keith?” Shiro asked, grabbing his wrist. Keith looked at Shiro’s hand encasing his wrist. His hand looked so small against Shiro’s.

“You’re safe, Shiro,” Keith said. “I’ll be here, as long as you need me.”

Shiro blinked at him. Keith still didn’t think Shiro was completely coherent, but the soup and the warm blankets definitely seemed to be helping him.

Shiro lay back against the pillows, eyes slipping closed. Keith covered him with another blanket.

“You’d better come out of this okay,” Keith whispered. He looked around the room, belatedly realizing that Allura and Coran were gone. He turned back to Shiro, who seemed to be asleep already.

Keith looked around guiltily, then leaned over and pressed his lips quickly against Shiro’s forehead.

“You’re safe. Rest,” Keith whispered.

Shiro didn’t respond, but the pained expression on his face evened out. Keith left the door open as he walked out to the dining room. He saw Shiro’s torn bag and he sat at the table, head in his hands.

Shiro would be okay, Keith told himself. He had to be. 

Keith let the tears fall, and sat there as the sun finally started to rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would love to know your thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> All the horses in that will appear in this story are based on horses I've known throughout my life. I'll tell you more about Willie in coming chapters, because he was one of the coolest horses I have ever known.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are love!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Interlude](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12935895) by [gingayellow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingayellow/pseuds/gingayellow)




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